The Four Roses
After a small discussion, the price was settled, and the liveryman took Isabou to her stable for a well-deserved rest, a manger of good hay, and a welcome drink. Jhary looked into the corner of his dark coin purse, he was in possession of very few riches. The bard would have to work soon to replenish this dwindling wealth, though, in this bustling place, he was none too worried about this. Jhary then retied the string on the small purse and stowed it away in his coat. It was time to explore the comforts of the 'recommended' accommodations.
She had been long ago named something else, some would remember, but many who stayed within her walls would not, to them, she had become simply The Four Roses. A grandiose building that stood on the corner of Bridge Street and East Terrace, overlooking the river, housing the most pleasures to be had, in the fair city of the Bridge.
Though the town was ruled by tight marshal law and penalties for dissidence were tough, many of the ideas and morals that had been embraced in more civilized times, had been shed. Prostitution, drug use, and slavery were all lawful in the Bridge.
The trio pushed their way into the smoke-filled lobby, well aware they were being watched, especially Aurianne. Beauty sulked by her knee no more than a shadow. She was not the only hound here, others too had their animals in tow. A great Irish wolfhound sauntered up to sniff at her and her mistress. Aurianne petted the huge dog's head before it slunk away at the insistent shout of its master, who sat at a bar stool in an animated conversation with a fellow drinker.
Unlike the municipal offices, the patrons here were armed, and no insistence was made that the travelers surrender their weapons. Many carried bows, they were a common weapon here, relatively cheap and easy to craft, and a mainstay for hunting. Some of the more impressive individuals carried firearms or swords, one man even had a rifle complete with bayonet. Though rough machetes or daggers were more commonplace.
"Mary's, still very ill..."
Kario overheard some worried patron comment to his friend. "I'm afraid the recent rain will do her in."
His companion nodded sympathetically, scarred hands clasping his mug of cider as though it was the most valuable thing in the world. Kario well knew to some men it was, and in these times it was easy to see why. The world was harsh and rough, the slightest stumble could see you fall. With no one to care if you did. There was other talk too, about the recent black rain. The people seemed immersed in a climate of fear, many had been taken ill or died it would seem by the conversations taking place about him.
"Interesting clientele," Jhary said sarcastically, as he made his way to the check-in desk. A bored young man sat there looking at the three visitors, with a gaze that bordered on hostility.
"How much for a room?" Jhary inquired pleasantly.
The man didn't answer directly but looked closely at Jhary and his companions, perhaps trying to assess if they were a risk to the furnishings or not, or maybe how much they could afford to pay?
Jhary did not know the man's mind, but smiled congenially and waited. The man looked at his ledger book and scribbled something illegible in one of the columns with a sharp-tipped pencil. Behind them, there was an uproar of laughter, and the trio turned about, however, they could not be sure what it was about, perhaps in response to the rather ribald entertainment that was featured on the small stage at the other side of the room?
Jhary returned his attention to the man. He knew everything here would be bought with barter and a keen process of haggling. A sale could not be rushed. It was up to his negotiation skills as to whether they paid an outrageous price or a fair one.
"I'll be your little leg humping doggie... let me be your dirty..."
The trio once again looked to the stage, a faux female in a graveled falsetto howled to the crowd. Yes, the show was very lewd. Jhary though half interested in his competition turned back to the hotel clerk, and laid some of his gold on the counter. The young man squinted through the hemp smoke at the valuables.
"How long you plan to stay?"
"A few days."
The clerk held up the gold ring, it held no sentimental value to Jhary, simply one he had acquired along the way as currency. A small ruby sat in its setting. The bard had long ago decided not to think too hard about the sad stories his little bag of treasures may have accumulated.
