THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 53
The Tattooed Woman Volume 3 - Chapter 53: Blood Will Out
The tavern was awash with all manner of characters, ranging from those garbed in the most outlandish and extravagant of costume to others of a more sombre demeanor, who chose instead to conceal their features beneath murky cloaks that probably hid more than mere daggers.
Bearded Dwarves, proud in their iron, raised tankards and bellowed their songs; drunken gladiators and inebriated sellswords mixed with rogues and ruffians as they contested for the eye of some comely wench or likely lad. Half-Orc bodyguards played at 'dice and daggers' with Elfish scouts, as, from the rafters above their heads, the beady eyes of summoned familiars and conjured imps kept watch over their masters.
The common room was of significant size, lit by flickering witchfire lanterns set in engraved brass sconces that somehow, and doubtless by careful and deliberate design, only partially illuminated the many nooks and crannies.
Some folks sat by the fire, enjoying its warmth and light, others preferred to lurk in the shadowy pews set further back. The whole place seemed awash with sounds and movement, with talking, singing and cursing in a truly bewildering myriad of languages. The air was pungent with the smell of wood and tobacco smoke, as it competed with the aroma of roasting meats, rich spices and strong spirits.
Here and there, dancing girls whirled atop a table, spinning in enticing displays of silk and skin as they weaved with beguiling grace, or leapt from one tabletop to another, attracted like magpies to the glitter of gold coins tossed at their nimble feet by clapping and cheering patrons.
Figures in chain shirts, and studded leather hauberks called out to serving wenches for wine and ale, or perhaps one of the pies baking on the skillet over the fire, while at another table, off to one side, hooded figures hunched close, deep in murmured conversation as they pored over the maps and unrolled parchments that lay between them.
At yet another table, a cluster of urchins or potboys watched with child-like delight as a wizard of some kind conjured a tiny figure of bright flame from a candle and set it to dancing and playing atop the table for their entertainment. The magi chuckled at their laughter as he showed off. That the sprite left tiny burning footprints in its wake did not seem to discourage his amusement in the slightest. Though his expression changed somewhat, as without direction it paused in its capering, and in a most eerie movement deliberately turned to peer towards the door. It was a motion copied and unseen by the handful of familiars lurking in the rafters above.
Cassie felt her mouth drop open, for though she had worked in a tavern during much of her young life, she had never experienced such a place as this. Nor anything like such a company.
They were of so many different shapes and forms; all engaged in their own business, or their own merrymaking. Yet, as she looked about with wide eyed astonishment, she could not help but sense there was something of a similarity about them. That they were all armed was not so strange these days, but many had a certain predatory quickness of eye and hand that spoke volumes.
For this was an establishment where so-called "adventurers" were known to frequent. And though other sell-swords, ruffians, rogues, or indeed anyone with coin enough in their pocket, was certainly welcome, and while there was bravado enough to be had in any quantity, there was surprisingly little of the thievery or thuggery one might expect to find in a place filled with such fatal and disreputable creatures.
The Dark Elves were a prideful folk, intolerant of strangers, quick to take offence and long to forgive, if ever. But they were crafty, and even they recognised that sometimes there was more to be gained by not paying overmuch attention to the comings and goings of such folk. After all, it was well known that adventurers, by their very nature, were both demented and perilously unpredictable. Besides, more than one House had, at times, made use of, or profited from their reckless insanity, so, unless provoked, they left them be.
The tavern was somewhat hard to find; it being situated deep in the warren-like sprawl of the Shambles. It was ensconced at one darkened corner of a small and dimly lit square that was itself situated off the furthest end of a particularly well-hidden and secluded lane.
There was rumour that a glamour had been laid upon the taproom, that its door could not be found by aimless tipplers, and that secret passwords needs must be spoken before entry could be gained, but glamours and other such petty enchantments were common enough in the city of the dark elves, so the story was probably just bunkum... probably.
But even so, it did not appear to be a place easily found, or casually frequented for that matter, certainly not by well-bred ladies of refinement and the like. Such august and delicate personages would surely be horrified and set to swooning if compelled to endure such raucous company.
Apparently not; for this was Emain, the city of the Dark Elves, and swooning was distinctly not in their wicked natures. Which was probably why Leita apparently was most familiar with the place, and thus, after their night of theatre and spectacle, she happily led Cassie there, unerringly finding her way to the door, skipping, and giggling with a merry lack of concern as she guided the increasingly nervous girl through the maze of narrow alleys and cobbled lanes that made up the thieves' quarter.
One would have thought, perhaps, that the sight of two young women, wandering at night seemingly without escort or care, in such nefarious environs would attract a certain level of unfriendly attention. But it seemed that if Leita knew these avenues intimately, then so too did they know her; and thus, the wolves that lurked and watched from the shadows wisely turned away, deciding to try their luck elsewhere, and perhaps with less
hazardous
prey.
Leita muttered a few words and tossed a gold crown to the burly ostarius warding the door. He was a bald, lumpy fellow of significant size, clad in a sturdy leather garb that left his muscular arms bare. His face was a battlefield of old scars and his grin at being so well-paid revealed teeth like lonely tombstones as he bit the coin.
Beady eyes gleamed with happy avarice as the gold proved true, and his fingers moved to tug an imaginary forelock. Hefting his cudgel, he heaved himself from his stool and led the two women through the throng and into the depths of the tavern proper, using his bulk, or the stout hickory in his hand to plow a path for them to follow.
Upon reaching an empty table situated in a comfortable nook, he gestured, "This should do ye, though if it's privacy yer after, we have a few rooms in back," he grinned, "the divans are padded and comfortable, and there are houris to be had for a few coins if it's bedplay yer after."
Seeing Cassie's aghast look, he sniffed and lifted his chin to growl, "Both are clean, I'll have ye know, for 'tis a respectable place we run here."
Fetching him a cheerful smile, Leita did not seem even slightly intimidated by his gruff demeanor, "Maybe later."
With a mortified gasp Cassie turned to stare at her in shock, but the insouciant dark elf merely shrugged, "You never know."
The younger woman couldn't help but cast a furtive glance at the scantily clad dancing girls, and much to the obvious delight of the still grinning elf, she reddened spectacularly, "I bloody do know. Lady Shalidar would clip my ears back if I indulged in such illicit -
hanky-panky
, and deservedly so."
Leita's chuckle was as musical as the laughter of all Elves, but to Cassie's ears it held a distinctly mischievous note. She watched as the lithe and graceful Dökkálfar motioned towards a serving wench, beckoning her to their table with a languid gesture, and the promise of the shining coin now held betwixt outstretched fingers.
The girl wove between tables and stools with her tray held aloft, nimbly dodging one groping hand and playfully slapping away another, until she stood before them, eyes fixed brightly upon the enticing lure of the gold piece that Leita deliberately placed down upon the table before sliding it towards her, "What say you fetch my companion and I a measure of good wine, a couple of clean goblets and perhaps a brace of those fine pies that I see warming by the fire? If you are swift enough, I see no reason to trouble yourself by bringing back any change left over, and should you keep an eye on our further needs as we take our repast then I shall ensure that another coin is left for your troubles before we leave."
