“You should have asked for directions before Setu left,” Dave said.
“Yes, alright,” SJ snipped back at his comment. “I just need to ask someone else.”
Not many were out on the streets this late, but a few still walked along in the warmth of the evening. SJ approached a halfling strolling down the road, blowing vast billows of smoke from a pipe he held. It was the first sign of smoking she had seen since arriving.
“Excuse me?”
The halfling turned to look at her. “Yesh,” he said, his pipe sticking out of his mouth.
“Do you know where the Wandering Ogre is?”
“Errr. I do, but I am unsure why you would be looking for it.”
“Why?” SJ asked.
“It is not the nicest of inns for such a pretty face as yourself.”
“I need to see someone who works there about a job.”
“Oh. I see.” He said in an almost explanatory voice, which SJ didn’t quite understand. “It is on the outskirts of town. Head as if going to the mountainside and then follow the main road to the right for a bit, and you will come upon it. It is well-lit usually at night, so you won’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” SJ replied, smiling at the halfling.
“No, thank you. I may call in myself soon once you have a job there.”
SJ frowned and looked at him. “Erm. Okay, thank you again.”
Following the directions, SJ eventually reached the Wandering Ogre. As the halfling had said, it was brightly lit up, and on approaching, SJ could hear music and the general good-natured sounds expected from any bar. SJ walked towards the main entrance, where two massive trolls stood, one on either side. They were even larger than Bert.
“What do you want, little lady?” one of them asked gruffly as she approached.
“I have come to see Niweq.”
“What ya wanna see Niweq for?”
SJ did not want to mention the alchemist. “I heard there is a job going.”
“We always have space for new uns,” the first troll stated.
“Especially ones lookin’ like you,” the other said. They sounded almost identical, and their accent reminded her of Londoners. It was the strangest thing to hear coming from a troll’s mouth.
“Go round the side entrance for Niweq. E will be in his office.”
“Thanks,” SJ said, walking around the side.
SJ walked up to a single door at the side with a lantern hanging above it. A sign on the door read ‘Acts only’.
“This must be a theatre or something like that?” SJ said.
“I don’t think it is,” Dave replied.
“Then what is it?” SJ asked.
“I have my suspicions, but we will see.”
SJ knocked on the door, and after a moment, it was opened. She looked upon the large, broad chest of a powerful-looking orc. He was huge and bent slightly to look at her.
SJ coughed, slightly taken aback by his muscular form. “I am here to see Niweq,” her voice squeakier than she wished for.
“You after a job?”
“Yes,” SJ replied.
“I will go and check.” The door closed again. SJ stood waiting, and a minute later, the door reopened.
“Okay. Follow me. He said he would see you when I mentioned you were a fae.”
“What has been a fae got to do with it?” SJ asked.
“We haven’t had a fae before.”
SJ frowned and followed the orc inside down a corridor. Off the corridor were several rooms, and SJ glanced inside, seeing various females of differing races all sitting at desks applying make-up and similar.
“It is a theatre,” SJ whispered.
Following the orc down the corridor, they came to another door. A sign on the door read ‘Manager Niweq Xyster—Master of the Arts’. The orc knocked before opening the door and walking in.
“Here she is boss. I told you she was a looker.”
SJ walked into a large office that reminded her of a scene from a film. A large desk and posters were plastered on the walls advertising different acts.
“Welcome and come in,” said an elf behind his desk. He was beautiful and slim, and his finely chiselled features reminded her of a runway model. “I am Niweq, and who may you be?” he asked, smiling broadly.
His smile was disarming, and SJ spluttered slightly. “SJ.”
“Nice to meet you. Please take a seat. That’s all Pethtu,” he said, waving the orc back out. The massive orc turned and left, closing the door behind him.
“So, you are here about work?” Niweq asked.
“I am not, actually,” SJ replied.
“Oh. That is not what Pethtu told me. I know he can be a little hard of hearing, but I am sure he would have heard whether you were after work or not.”
“I am here for a friend. I have some questions that I need answers to.”
“Do you now. And who might this friend be? Does she work here?”
“No. It is not she. It is a he, a goblin friend of mine.”
“A goblin friend? I am not sure what a goblin would be doing asking for me. I don’t hire goblins or males. They don’t go down very well with the crowd. Many of them have a select choice.” Niweq laughed.
“Crowd? You mean the audience.”
“Ha. They are not an audience in the manner you suspect, my dear. So, what is this goblin after?”
“He was trying to find a man called Darjey the alchemist.”
“Darjey, and why would he be looking for Darjey?”
“He has been providing him with some potions for his sick wife, and he needs more.”
“Oh, I see. Well, Darjey is probably here. He is most evenings, but I am not sure why you would have been directed to me. I hardly know the man.”
“There was a sign at his shop saying he could be found here, if needed, outside of normal hours and to speak to you.”
“Really, that is interesting. Well, Darjey is likely to be in the main bar. He has been a regular since his arrival for the past few months.”
“Arrival?”
“Yes. He and his friend are here most nights.”
“Oh. Your acts must be good. I have never been a fan of theatre myself.”
Niweq laughed. It was a mesmerising sound. “Oh. I think you may not have fully appreciated what this inn is.”
“What is it?”
“It is a dancing club.”
“What is wrong with that?”
Niweq laughed again and, standing back up, walked around the desk. “Come dear, I will show you.”
SJ followed Niweq as he left the door; as they did, a slim figure that SJ believed to be a dryad scurried past, holding her top and with tears on her cheeks. “Pethtu. What is going on?”
“On it, boss, “ the large orc replied as he walked up the corridor and through a large curtain. On the other side of the curtain, loud music, laughter and cheering could be heard. Niweq led SJ around the side and up a small set of spiral stairs until they came out on a small balcony that overlooked the main inn area below.
A long bar was running down one side, tables dotted around, and a large stage area and short runways came out into the crowd area. SJ suddenly realised that she was in a certain sort of dance club. The females dancing to the music were all pole dancing provocatively and lewdly. SJ was shocked at the sight. The scene reminded her of a pole dancing club she had ended up at one night in London with work colleagues. She had had way too much to drink that night, and it was her first and last experience of such a club.
Thankfully, none of the dancers were stripping, but it was as near as it could get without doing so. Their clothes barely covered their various forms. There were elves, dryads, humans, orcs, and even a dwarf, who, for SJ, was not the most pleasant sight, wearing a very revealing dress with her bust almost sticking out. A group of dwarves sat at a nearby table cheering and hooting for her.
“I see what you mean,” SJ eventually managed to say to Niweq. “I didn’t realise there was a club like this in town.”
“Ah. Officially, we are not within the town boundary, so we don’t fall under the town remit. I am just a poor elf who took advantage of a market opening.”
“I see,” SJ replied. “Do you see the alchemist down there?”
Niweq glanced around the bar before indicating to a table on the far side. “He is sat over there with his usual group of friends. I will have to talk to him about why he uses my name for his business, though.”
SJ looked at the man. He was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, whistling and hollering at an elf, dancing provocatively around a pole on a small platform. SJ was not surprised or annoyed at what she was seeing. Those dancing were just earning a living, and those willing to pay were sad enough not to have a woman at home to care for them. Of the forty patrons, they were all male, and one female sat by herself at the bar.
“Do you mind if I go and speak to them?”
“No. I don’t mind.”
“How do I get there?”
“From here, the only way is via the stage unless you go back around the front.”
“Okay. Thank you, Niweq, for your time.”
“My dear, it is an absolute pleasure, and I only wished you had been seeking work. I think you would have become a firm favourite for all the patrons we get.”
SJ was not quite sure how to reply, so she just nodded. Turning and heading back down the spiral staircase. Reaching the bottom, Pethtu strolled back towards the curtains, and Niweq followed SJ. “What was the problem, Pethtu?”
“That idiot half-orc grabbed her again.”
“I have warned him before. Get the boys, will you? They can leave for tonight. This may work in your favour, my dear. The half-orc is a friend of Darjey’s, so they will likely leave together.”
“Oh. Great. I will wait outside then.”
SJ walked back to the side entrance, left, and went to the front of the building again. The two massive trolls had entered the inn, and the door was stood open. SJ stood a distance away from it, and it didn’t take long for three people to be escorted to the doorway by the two huge trolls and Pethtu.
“Look, lads, you have been told before. You touch the ladies. You have to leave. The boss said you can return tomorrow when you sober up again.”
“She asked for it,” the half-orc complained.
“None of the ladies ask for anything, you know that,” Pethtu replied, closing the door on them. This left the two massive trolls on either side of the door again.
“Damn it, Malcolm,” the human man who SJ believed was Darjey said.
“Sorry, man. I couldn’t resist. She is a stunner, that one.”
The realisation hit SJ that it had to be the same Malcolm she had fought with.
“This could be interesting,” Dave said.
SJ immediately cast her Identification skill on the three of them.
Malcolm Kilgore
Race: half-orc
Age: 19
Level: 6
Hit Points: 36
Mana Points: 30
Darjey Simpson
Race: Human
Age: 28
Level: 5
Hit Points: 25
Mana Points: 25
Peteriol Siquitch
Race: Lycanthrope
Age: 36
Level: 10
Hit points: 90
Mana points: 70
“I need to get back to town,” the man SJ guessed was Peteriol said. “Wife is going to be wondering where I am. I said I was only going out to grab dinner.” He swayed slightly on his feet as he spoke. SJ watched in amazement as the lycanthrope transformed into a boar and began to stagger back the way she had come from town.
“Bah. Lightweight,” Malcolm shouted after him.
SJ did not confront them and moved back to the side of the inn. She watched as the pair began to stagger back towards town.
“I am guessing they are the two Legionnaires?” SJ whispered.
“Yes,” Dave replied in an angry tone.
“You okay, Dave?”
“I hate people like that. There is no need for their behaviour; it is quite typical for Legionnaires, though, to be honest. They think they can do what they like.”
“I have not been like that, though,”
“No. You haven’t you have been civilised, which again makes a change from many of them.”
SJ was a little concerned that Dave had such a low opinion of Legionnaires, but then again, she had only met Malcolm before, who was a complete asshat. SJ kept her distance as they walked back into town, eventually cutting down the street where the alchemist shop was and entering the building.
“It could be challenging facing two of them.”
“Best time to do it. They are both drunk.”
“Malcolm was drunk last time as well.”
“Not as drunk as he is now. He could hardly walk straight.”
“True, and the sooner I can prove the problem with Margu is fake and get Setu his money back, the better.”
“Agreed,” Dave said with determination in his voice.
“So how do we do this?”
“Try knocking on the door?” Dave sarcastically replied.
SJ sighed, shaking her head. “I was asking what you think I should do.”
“Oh. I see. Well, knock on the door as soon as it opens, force your way in and threaten them that if they don’t give you the money, you will leave a horse’s head in their bed.”
“It’s not the godfather, and I am not the Mafia.”
“Would be cool if you were, though,”
SJ walked to the door and knocked on it sharply. A slurred voice called out from inside.
“Who is it?”
“I am seeking an alchemist, and I heard you are the best in town.”
“I am, but we are closed tonight. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“It is really a matter of life or death. I have silver,” SJ added desperately.
At the comment over money, SJ heard footsteps approaching the door. The door was pulled open, and the face of Darjey, looking very bleary-eyed and drunk, appeared.
“Hello,” he said, slurring and smiling. “What problem needs a potion?”
“My husband is ill. I require a potion to heal him,” SJ said, making up absolute rubbish on the spot. She had never been a fan of improv.
Darjey staggered slightly, leaning against the wall, his eyes fluttering. It was obvious that he was exceedingly drunk. “Come in, and I will see what I can sort for you,” he slurred.
He stepped aside, allowing SJ to enter the house. Closing the door, Darjey directed SJ into the front room. Inside was a small counter and shelving full of bottles of various coloured liquids. Walking over to the counter he leaned against it, supporting his weight. There was the pungent smell of strong liquor, and an open bottle stood on the countertop. SJ could not see Malcolm.
“So, what are his symptoms,” Darjey asked, hiccupping.
“He has been asleep for several days; I have been unable to wake him, and he has come out in a rash,” SJ described Margu’s exact symptoms.
“Oh dear. It seems that your husband may have GoblinPox. I treated a case a few days ago; it must be doing the rounds,” he replied.
“GOBLINPOX,” SJ cried in shock, “Is that not fatal?
“No. No. I have a cure for it right here. It is very expensive though. It takes a lot to prepare and make the potion.”
“Oh no. I do not have much. How much is it?”
Darjey looked at her from head to toe and took in her pristine dress. SJ cursed at wearing the dress now, knowing what he would say.
“I can sell you a potion for twenty silver.”
“Twenty silver! I do not have that sort of coin.”
“I’m sorry, but that is the cheapest I can do it for. The ingredients are very rare and take a long time to collect and prepare.”
SJ could tell that this charlatan spent a lot of time perfecting his cons. He was even as drunk as he was, sounding very sincere.
“But I can’t afford it. Is there anything you can do to help me?”
“Umm. Let me see.” Darjey bent underneath the small counter and brought out a small pouch. “I could give you this for him in the meantime until such a time as you can afford the potion. I would advise though the sooner, the better to raise funds as it can be dire without.”
SJ looked at the small pouch he had brought out. “What is it?”
“It is a soothing powder. You sprinkle it on the rash, which should stop it from worsening. If you are struggling for coin, I do know a lender who may be able to help you.”
“You do? Who would that be?”
“He is a friend of mine. He is here this evening but is sleeping. If you come back in the morning, I am sure we can arrange something.”
“How much is the powder?”
“This is only two silver,” Darjey said, prodding the pouch with his finger.
SJ removed two silver coins from her inventory and held them in her hand. She noticed Darjey’s eyes immediately dart to the coin she now held, and she was getting more infuriated every second she talked to him.
“Kill him,” Dave said. “He is the scum of a Legionnaire and doesn’t deserve a second life.” His tone was flat and emotionless.
It was the first time SJ had heard Dave speak this way, which surprised her. Trying to maintain her act, she went to place the two silver coins on the counter and, while doing so, pretended to stumble, causing one of the coins to roll. Darjey went to grab the rolling coin, missing it in his drunken state, and it dropped to the floor behind the counter. He bent down to pick it up, and SJ took advantage.
