The Green Dragon Inn - Part 4

[piosenniel]

‘Wouldn’t you just know it!’ exclaimed Cook to Derufin, the stableman, as they made the rounds of the room, serving dinners to the hungry patrons. ‘Our busiest night in weeks and Miz Aman has gone off on some “errand”, or so she says.’ She poked the tall man in the side and laughed as they headed back to the kitchen. ‘If you ask me, she’s got someone she fancies and doesn’t want us to know about it.’ Cook stopped and looked round at the two newcomers at the bar counter. With a sigh, she handed her tray, now empty of the supper plates she had just served up, to Derufin and slipped behind the bar.

They were both shadowy figures, one a lady by the looks of her, with an Elven bow carried on her back and two of the palest hands she’d seen in a very long time. Still, she had her little pouch of coins in hand, and she was thirsty like any traveler in from the dusty road. Cook took her drink order, and bid her have a good evening. Watching her as she returned to her table in the corner, Cook tsk’d at the muddy boot prints trailing across the floor of the Common Room.

Next she turned to the tall fellow standing at the end of the counter. He seemed nervous about his bag and odd colored sack he’d left on his chair, and kept a wary eye on them. ‘Naught to worry about in here,’ she said to the back of his head as he glanced away once more. ‘Most folks are honest round these parts.’ He turned back to her and her attention was drawn to the blade he had strapped to his back. ‘Best be careful though with your sword in here. We don’t tolerate fights or swordplay, so just keep it sheathed and you can keep it on you.’ Her hand, hidden below the counter, fingered the stout blackthorn club there, just in case he took offense at her words.

His hands stayed on the counter, and she relaxed as he ordered his drink. ‘Interesting,’ Cook thought to herself, ‘there goes another one off into a dark corner.’ She shook her head and looked at the small cheery blaze in the fireplace. ‘Why is it that Big Folk so often carry such darkness inside them?’ She shook off the gloomy thoughts, and looked up toward the door just as one of the locals was slipping toward the door.

Grabbing one of the slips pinned behind the counter, she moved quickly to intercept him, putting her hand on his shoulder just as he pushed open the door.

‘Merimac Brown!” she said, halting him, her eyes sweeping out to the yard to catch a glimpse of his uncle, Ferdibrand. She held up the slip of paper so that both of them could see it. ‘It’s about your bill here. It’s almost the end of the month - we need to come to some agreement on settling it . . .’ She looked at their cart with a certain glint in her eye, wondering what goods they might have brought into Bywater to sell or trade. The Browns had a reputation for some of the finest smoked hams in the Westfarthing. ‘Perhaps I can wrangle one for the Inn’s kitchen,’ she thought to herself . . .