Writing Sample: "Trouble Brewing" |
The Flask and Talisman was a fine establishment. A moderately well-appointed tavern. A perfectly passable place for Highport’s locals to unwind at the end of a long day.
Okay. It was a dive.
The owner, Gudbrand Venker, watered down the ale, their wine selection bordered on vinegar, and the bread made a fine bludgeoning weapon. But it was cheap, and good old Gundbrand paid his taxes and made the appropriate alliances to keep the place relatively safe from violent crimes. Plus, there were plenty of games of chance, and even more locals downing flagons of ale with abandon, making good marks.
Cassius sat at a table next to five of said locals, his dark skin and pointed ears setting him apart from the crowd—but not so much they wouldn’t take his money.
“I’ll take two,” Niklos said with a sigh. The man was skinny: the kind of thin you only got through starvation or a heavy use of drugs. His fingers trembled as he tossed two wooden disks on the table and drew two replacements from the stacks sitting in the center of the table next to a pile of coins.
Beside Niklos, Dag sat with his round belly pressed against the table’s edge. His thick arms and scarred face declared that the man had served in the military or as a guard. His rotund middle testified that made enough coin to put on some weight. Dag and Niklos were a study in contrasts, and not just for their size: Dag sported a satisfied grin. “I’ll call.”
He laid three wooden disks down on the table in front of him. Three birds, all blue, decorated the back of the tiles.
Groans circled the table, and Niklos slammed a fist down, cursing Dag out. Cassius grabbed his glass of wine to keep it from tipping over.
Dag, still grinning, reached for the pot.
“Not so fast,” Cassius said, exaggerating the words as if he were as tipsy as the others. “We get one more turn.”
The others looked at him, half amused. He’d been losing steadily, carefully, for an hour, and had even called once before with little to show for it. He played it up, leaning forward to squint at Dag’s displayed tiles. “Three birds. That’s tough.” He turned over two tiles, both displaying a red wolf. “All I have is two wolves, but… I can change out tiles, right?”
Then he leaned forward, setting his other tile aside and carefully grabbing another from the stack in the middle. He turned it over, showing a white puff of paint meant to represent a sheep. “Oh. Huh…” Inwardly, he grinned. Outwardly he painted a frown and blinked slowly, waiting a long beat before he narrowed his eyes at the tile with the sheep. “Wait. Doesn’t the sheep double each wolf? Or is it only one?”
“Ha!” Henrick pointed at Cassius and his hand, then slapped his thigh. “Only one, but that’s enough. He has you beat, Dag!”
Dag stood abruptly, glaring at Cassius. “You tricked me. What’d you do, elf?”
Cassius looked up at him, feigning bewilderment, as he raked the pile of coins to his side of the table. “I just played the game. It’s just dumb luck.” He smiled, motioning to Dag’s seat. “Come on. Sit… let’s have another round.” He waved a hand for the serving woman.
Dag wasn’t buying it. He reached for his hip and the sword there. Cassius tipped his chair back, letting it fall as he intentionally stumbled away—and onto his feet. He didn’t reach for the twin swords at his waist, though. Instead he held his hands up. “Whoa. Whoa. It’s just a friendly game…”
Two of the guards watching the doors were at Dag’s side before he could fully draw his sword. Thank Greysin for Gundbrand and his desire for a peaceful tavern. “Thank you,” he said to the guards.
The larger of the guards glared at him. “You, too. We don’t need trouble.”
“But... “ Cassius began. “I wasn’t—”
None of the men around the table were sticking up for him. Of course not. But they weren’t vouching for Dag, either. “I’ll take my wine and go to the bar,” he offered as he righted his chair and grabbed his bag: the one with the coins in it. “I’m meeting a friend.”
“What friend?” the guard challenged.
As if called by the words, Tahlia appeared, approaching from the main doors. “Cass?” She'd foregone the loose clothes donned by healers for her more customary armor and weapons. Worn but well cared for, her armor, coupled with her longsword, longbow, and quiver, marked her as an experienced fighter. Her short black hair also marked her an outsider, but that didn’t matter when she walked in with squared shoulders and righteous indignation furrowing her brow.
She always did have great timing.
“You know this elf, ...uh… Miss?” The guard examined her sword and the quality of her bow, and frowned.
“I do, Sir,” she replied, meeting the man’s eyes. Hers flitted to Cassius, frustration dancing in them. “And I’ll speak for him. What seems to be the trouble?”
“That thief rigged the game!” Dag was being held by one arm by the door.
Tahlia looked at him and pursed her lips, then took a long breath. “You,” she said, turning her attention to the men around the table. “Did you see him cheat?”
They all shook their heads, muttering half answers. She looked at Dag. “Did you?”
“Well, not how, but—” his answer sputtered out, “what are the chances of a sheep?!” The other guard rolled his eyes, then, after a nod from his companion, hauled Dag outside.
Tahia returned her attention to the guard, her cheeks hot. Cassius cringed. He knew how much she hated to be the center of attention. “Look. I just need to talk to my friend here. You just want a boring shift. I’ll vouch for him. And promise there won’t be any further trouble.”
The guard frowned at her implication of his laziness, but eventually conceded with a growled reply. “There better not be. Or I’ll toss you both out.”
Tahlia sighed and took Cassius by the arm. He grabbed his wine before stumbling with her in that direction, offering contrite smiles to the other players.
It was still relatively early, so they were able to grab a place at the bar.
“Are you going to drink any of that?” Tahlia eyed the glass of wine on the bar between them suspiciously.
Cassius pushed the glass of wine away from him. “No. I may trust in luck, but even I’m not that brave.” He grinned. “So the boy is well now?”
“He’s back home, resting under the care of their personal physician.” Yet again her cheeks flushed.
Cassius blew a puff of air through his pursed lips. “Who will no doubt claim the credit for his recovery. I hope you told the boy your name.”
Tahlia rolled her eyes. “I didn’t help him because of his name.”
“No, of course not. But since you did save the child of the wealthiest merchant in Highport, it wouldn't hurt to let him know who you are.” Cassius scanned the tavern as if the town gossip might materialize out of thin air. “Especially if you want to be hired on as a personal healer or guard.”
“Is money all you think about?” She asked acerbically.
“Yes,” he replied evenly. “It’s important for things like… you know… eating. And a reputation like yours can help us land the next job.”
Tahlia closed her eyes. Cassius imagined her gathering her patience and pouring it carefully into her tone. ”You used my name?”
“Only a little.” Cassius’ grin returned in full force. “And it worked…” he shot a sly look at Tahlia. “I—”
“You found us a job,” she said, sounding defeated, of all things.
“I found us a job,” Cassis said simultaneously before mock-glaring at his longtime companion. “You’ll like this one.”
“You say that every time,” she replied dryly.
Okay. It was a dive.
The owner, Gudbrand Venker, watered down the ale, their wine selection bordered on vinegar, and the bread made a fine bludgeoning weapon. But it was cheap, and good old Gundbrand paid his taxes and made the appropriate alliances to keep the place relatively safe from violent crimes. Plus, there were plenty of games of chance, and even more locals downing flagons of ale with abandon, making good marks.
Cassius sat at a table next to five of said locals, his dark skin and pointed ears setting him apart from the crowd—but not so much they wouldn’t take his money.
“I’ll take two,” Niklos said with a sigh. The man was skinny: the kind of thin you only got through starvation or a heavy use of drugs. His fingers trembled as he tossed two wooden disks on the table and drew two replacements from the stacks sitting in the center of the table next to a pile of coins.
Beside Niklos, Dag sat with his round belly pressed against the table’s edge. His thick arms and scarred face declared that the man had served in the military or as a guard. His rotund middle testified that made enough coin to put on some weight. Dag and Niklos were a study in contrasts, and not just for their size: Dag sported a satisfied grin. “I’ll call.”
He laid three wooden disks down on the table in front of him. Three birds, all blue, decorated the back of the tiles.
Groans circled the table, and Niklos slammed a fist down, cursing Dag out. Cassius grabbed his glass of wine to keep it from tipping over.
Dag, still grinning, reached for the pot.
“Not so fast,” Cassius said, exaggerating the words as if he were as tipsy as the others. “We get one more turn.”
The others looked at him, half amused. He’d been losing steadily, carefully, for an hour, and had even called once before with little to show for it. He played it up, leaning forward to squint at Dag’s displayed tiles. “Three birds. That’s tough.” He turned over two tiles, both displaying a red wolf. “All I have is two wolves, but… I can change out tiles, right?”
Then he leaned forward, setting his other tile aside and carefully grabbing another from the stack in the middle. He turned it over, showing a white puff of paint meant to represent a sheep. “Oh. Huh…” Inwardly, he grinned. Outwardly he painted a frown and blinked slowly, waiting a long beat before he narrowed his eyes at the tile with the sheep. “Wait. Doesn’t the sheep double each wolf? Or is it only one?”
“Ha!” Henrick pointed at Cassius and his hand, then slapped his thigh. “Only one, but that’s enough. He has you beat, Dag!”
Dag stood abruptly, glaring at Cassius. “You tricked me. What’d you do, elf?”
Cassius looked up at him, feigning bewilderment, as he raked the pile of coins to his side of the table. “I just played the game. It’s just dumb luck.” He smiled, motioning to Dag’s seat. “Come on. Sit… let’s have another round.” He waved a hand for the serving woman.
Dag wasn’t buying it. He reached for his hip and the sword there. Cassius tipped his chair back, letting it fall as he intentionally stumbled away—and onto his feet. He didn’t reach for the twin swords at his waist, though. Instead he held his hands up. “Whoa. Whoa. It’s just a friendly game…”
Two of the guards watching the doors were at Dag’s side before he could fully draw his sword. Thank Greysin for Gundbrand and his desire for a peaceful tavern. “Thank you,” he said to the guards.
The larger of the guards glared at him. “You, too. We don’t need trouble.”
“But... “ Cassius began. “I wasn’t—”
None of the men around the table were sticking up for him. Of course not. But they weren’t vouching for Dag, either. “I’ll take my wine and go to the bar,” he offered as he righted his chair and grabbed his bag: the one with the coins in it. “I’m meeting a friend.”
“What friend?” the guard challenged.
As if called by the words, Tahlia appeared, approaching from the main doors. “Cass?” She'd foregone the loose clothes donned by healers for her more customary armor and weapons. Worn but well cared for, her armor, coupled with her longsword, longbow, and quiver, marked her as an experienced fighter. Her short black hair also marked her an outsider, but that didn’t matter when she walked in with squared shoulders and righteous indignation furrowing her brow.
She always did have great timing.
“You know this elf, ...uh… Miss?” The guard examined her sword and the quality of her bow, and frowned.
“I do, Sir,” she replied, meeting the man’s eyes. Hers flitted to Cassius, frustration dancing in them. “And I’ll speak for him. What seems to be the trouble?”
“That thief rigged the game!” Dag was being held by one arm by the door.
Tahlia looked at him and pursed her lips, then took a long breath. “You,” she said, turning her attention to the men around the table. “Did you see him cheat?”
They all shook their heads, muttering half answers. She looked at Dag. “Did you?”
“Well, not how, but—” his answer sputtered out, “what are the chances of a sheep?!” The other guard rolled his eyes, then, after a nod from his companion, hauled Dag outside.
Tahia returned her attention to the guard, her cheeks hot. Cassius cringed. He knew how much she hated to be the center of attention. “Look. I just need to talk to my friend here. You just want a boring shift. I’ll vouch for him. And promise there won’t be any further trouble.”
The guard frowned at her implication of his laziness, but eventually conceded with a growled reply. “There better not be. Or I’ll toss you both out.”
Tahlia sighed and took Cassius by the arm. He grabbed his wine before stumbling with her in that direction, offering contrite smiles to the other players.
It was still relatively early, so they were able to grab a place at the bar.
“Are you going to drink any of that?” Tahlia eyed the glass of wine on the bar between them suspiciously.
Cassius pushed the glass of wine away from him. “No. I may trust in luck, but even I’m not that brave.” He grinned. “So the boy is well now?”
“He’s back home, resting under the care of their personal physician.” Yet again her cheeks flushed.
Cassius blew a puff of air through his pursed lips. “Who will no doubt claim the credit for his recovery. I hope you told the boy your name.”
Tahlia rolled her eyes. “I didn’t help him because of his name.”
“No, of course not. But since you did save the child of the wealthiest merchant in Highport, it wouldn't hurt to let him know who you are.” Cassius scanned the tavern as if the town gossip might materialize out of thin air. “Especially if you want to be hired on as a personal healer or guard.”
“Is money all you think about?” She asked acerbically.
“Yes,” he replied evenly. “It’s important for things like… you know… eating. And a reputation like yours can help us land the next job.”
Tahlia closed her eyes. Cassius imagined her gathering her patience and pouring it carefully into her tone. ”You used my name?”
“Only a little.” Cassius’ grin returned in full force. “And it worked…” he shot a sly look at Tahlia. “I—”
“You found us a job,” she said, sounding defeated, of all things.
“I found us a job,” Cassis said simultaneously before mock-glaring at his longtime companion. “You’ll like this one.”
“You say that every time,” she replied dryly.
+ + +
The wind whipped wickedly off the waters of Highport’s bay, flushing salty air through the city’s crooked streets. Tahlia Winters inhaled deeply, appreciating the lack of people wandering about in the early morning.
Large cities, with their many eyes, still made her jittery. Normally Highport and its press of people would would be no exception.
Initially, Highport’s docks, warehouses, and sprawling merchant estates has been generously and logically distributed across the gently rolling hills around the bay. Over the years, taverns, tenements, and the supporting infrastructure required for a prosperous city had filled the space between them. The resulting winding thoroughfares often confused first-time visitors and provided pickpockets a myriad of escape routes when plying their trade.
But in the early morning, it had a different feeling. The city’s structure lay bare like trees stripped of their leaves in winter. There was activity, certainly, but it was industrious, productive: merchants preparing for the day, shopkeepers cleaning, bakers opening their windows to let the scent of free bread draw in their clientele.
“I think it’s the next left,” Tahlia said, feeling better after a night’s rest.
Beside her, Cassius grunted an incoherent response. Wearing leather armor, he looked every bit the mercenary, especially once one noticed the two curved blades sheathed at his hips and the satchel at his side—the one perfectly sized for a spell book. A thick maroon scarf wound around his neck to shield him from the wind, and thick black hair stuck out from a cloth tied at the back of his head. His sharp brown eyes fixed on Tahlia over the scarf. “You don’t need to be so chipper.”
Tahlia grinned. “Serves you right. How much did you take from those men last night, anyway?”
“Less than they deserved. You should have heard how they were talking about the server.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said.
“I thought you vouched for me,” he said, practically pouting.
She rolled her eyes. “I did, which is why you’d better not try it again.”
“Hmph,” he said as they approached a tall gate.
Tahlia decided to let it go as they passed through the gates into the Porfirio compound. They could talk about his habits when their prospective employer wasn’t listening.
The house consisted of a remarkable three stories, each one slightly smaller than the last and embellished on the outside with ornamentation: daring balconies, finely carved wood along the windowsills, and a portico highlighting the main entrance. This was where the guards led them, leading them inside then handing them off to another set of servants who explained that they were to be announced and asked them to wait in an anteroom by the front door and next to a large set of stairs that led up to the second floor.
Well-appointed, the room made Tahlia uncomfortable. Everything here smacked of wealth and privilege, even the intricately woven rugs beneath their feet.
“Come on. Sit down,” Cassius had already made himself at home, claiming a seat on one of the chairs covered with an intricate fabric. He grinned at her.
“You said this job was for the council?” Tahlia said, scanning the room from its center.
Cassius shrugged at her refusal to sit and leaned against the padded back of the chair with a sigh. “Yeah. Something about needing a group to investigate some trouble.”
Tahlia felt a chill. She didn’t like working with strangers, and Cassius knew it. “How large a group?”
Large cities, with their many eyes, still made her jittery. Normally Highport and its press of people would would be no exception.
Initially, Highport’s docks, warehouses, and sprawling merchant estates has been generously and logically distributed across the gently rolling hills around the bay. Over the years, taverns, tenements, and the supporting infrastructure required for a prosperous city had filled the space between them. The resulting winding thoroughfares often confused first-time visitors and provided pickpockets a myriad of escape routes when plying their trade.
But in the early morning, it had a different feeling. The city’s structure lay bare like trees stripped of their leaves in winter. There was activity, certainly, but it was industrious, productive: merchants preparing for the day, shopkeepers cleaning, bakers opening their windows to let the scent of free bread draw in their clientele.
“I think it’s the next left,” Tahlia said, feeling better after a night’s rest.
Beside her, Cassius grunted an incoherent response. Wearing leather armor, he looked every bit the mercenary, especially once one noticed the two curved blades sheathed at his hips and the satchel at his side—the one perfectly sized for a spell book. A thick maroon scarf wound around his neck to shield him from the wind, and thick black hair stuck out from a cloth tied at the back of his head. His sharp brown eyes fixed on Tahlia over the scarf. “You don’t need to be so chipper.”
Tahlia grinned. “Serves you right. How much did you take from those men last night, anyway?”
“Less than they deserved. You should have heard how they were talking about the server.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said.
“I thought you vouched for me,” he said, practically pouting.
She rolled her eyes. “I did, which is why you’d better not try it again.”
“Hmph,” he said as they approached a tall gate.
Tahlia decided to let it go as they passed through the gates into the Porfirio compound. They could talk about his habits when their prospective employer wasn’t listening.
The house consisted of a remarkable three stories, each one slightly smaller than the last and embellished on the outside with ornamentation: daring balconies, finely carved wood along the windowsills, and a portico highlighting the main entrance. This was where the guards led them, leading them inside then handing them off to another set of servants who explained that they were to be announced and asked them to wait in an anteroom by the front door and next to a large set of stairs that led up to the second floor.
Well-appointed, the room made Tahlia uncomfortable. Everything here smacked of wealth and privilege, even the intricately woven rugs beneath their feet.
“Come on. Sit down,” Cassius had already made himself at home, claiming a seat on one of the chairs covered with an intricate fabric. He grinned at her.
“You said this job was for the council?” Tahlia said, scanning the room from its center.
Cassius shrugged at her refusal to sit and leaned against the padded back of the chair with a sigh. “Yeah. Something about needing a group to investigate some trouble.”
Tahlia felt a chill. She didn’t like working with strangers, and Cassius knew it. “How large a group?”