The Bonnie Lark was one of the most frequented pubs in the Bazaar. Callous slipped through the crowd and found a table near the bar. He sat across from a snoring dwarf, who had obviously indulged a bit more than was wise. Callous slipped the dwarf's still full mug from his hand and drank, waiting for the girl to follow him in.
The tavern was uncomfortably packed. A high stake game of lots was on, in which a laborer had gambled a season's service against a night with a merchant's three elf-maids. Elvin females were a rare commodity in Corici and highly valued as pleasure slaves. Many of the patrons had gathered round the men, yelling taunts and cheers in typical drunken fashion.
It took the girl a while to find him. He watched as she strained her way through the crowd, looking for the 'beggar'.
'She's quite pretty', he thought, 'it's really too bad...'
She eventually found him, and he noticed that she immediately changed her countenance to an expression of utmost self-confidence. The girl smiled to him as she approached the table. Callous stood and crossed to stand behind the chair in which the dwarf sat slumbering. He tilted the chair to one side and the dwarf slid onto the floor, where he mumbled a bit about 'the stupid imperial' something or other, and then carried on, snoring away.
'Welcome, Thylisa,' he said, offering her the newly vacated chair, 'Sit, my dear. We have much to discuss.'
'Wait, 'ow do ya know my name? Who are you?' Thylisa stood back, ready to run if need arose.
'Fine,' he said, taking his seat, 'let 'them' find you, I certainly don't care.' Callous put the mug to his lips, drinking deeply.
Thylisa sat, her curiosity outbalancing her apprehension. She didn't like the way he stressed the word 'them'.
'All right, ya got me. Now what're ya talking about? Who are 'they', and why is anyone lookin' for me?'
'My, my... aren't you the inquisitive one...' he said as he beckoned to a barmaid. 'No details yet, my sweet, first we drink. This place isn't safe for such talk, most of these people would sell their souls at the drop of a few crescents.'
The barmaid was young, about fourteen summers, and rather unkempt. Callous recognized her accent, as it was a harsher slang than that of Corici. The lass hailed from Balifor, same as the three dead men lying in the street outside the door.
'Wha' can I get ya? We're ou'a anythin' cold, our ice spell's on th' blink again,' the girl smirked at her own sarcasm. Magic even as routine as ice spells was all little more than a childhood memory to her now.
'A horn of ale for myself and a goblet of red for the lady.'
'Four crescents fifty,' the girl said. She stared oddly at the man. One certainly did not expect proper speech (or silver, for that matter) from a beggar. The slight girl extended her grubby palm.
Callous counted four silver crescents and two brass pieces from Brandil's purse into the girl's hand.
'Graces, m'lord,' the girl attempted a clumsy curtsey and flitted off to the bar.
Thylisa leaned across the table,' Look, I appreciate what ya've done, but I haven't time for this. I don't know who ya are, or how ya know me, but I've a lot of things to take care of at the moment. So if ya'd be so kind as ta return my pack ta me, I'll be leaving.'
An inferno flashed through Callous' eyes as he spoke to her. 'You have quite a few more things to worry about than you think, whore!' He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the fire was gone. He settled back into his chair, the mask of comfortable amusement had returned.
