The Hidden Crystal

Chapter 2

"Iris!"

The roared greeting hit her as soon as she stepped into the tavern. She smiled at all the familiar faces as she crossed the room to the bar and the innkeeper, Mr. Tumes. "Good evening, everybody."

There were a lot of strangers tonight, most of them soldiers, some of them red-faced and openly leering at her. That was often the case as of late. She scanned the room as she put on the apron Mr. Tumes handed her, noting their locations, and then her eyes landed on the man in black sitting alone in a corner by the fireplace, nursing a mug of ale. His sharp green eyes flicked to hers, and she suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable.

"Iris, I swear, you're the prettiest thin' in the whole worl'!"

Good old Mr. Jones.

The discomfort evaporated as she threaded between the tables toward him, but she didn't make it in time to save his drink from sloshing down his shirt when he tipped his mug back too far.

"And that means you've had enough," she said, taking the half-empty mug from him and setting it firmly on the table.

"Aw, Iris—"

"You know the rule, Jones," Mr. Tumes interrupted in his booming voice, his gray eyes twinkling as the nightly routine played out before him. "If Iris says you've had enough, then you've had enough."

"Why don't you go home to your pretty little wife?" Iris suggested, wiping up the mess on the table.

Mr. Jones stumbled to his feet and threw his arms around her. His table mates' laughter caught and echoed around the room, and Iris rolled her eyes. This usually happened later in the night. He'd started drinking early today.

"Alright, come on," she said, easily slipping free from his clumsy embrace and taking his thick arm in hers. "Time for you to go."

"Mollie is a pretty thin', isn't she?" he slurred thoughtfully as Iris led him to the door.

Maybe in his drunken eyes, or maybe when Mrs. Jones was younger. But Iris went along with it, as she did every night. "Yes, Mr. Jones, she is. Better not keep her waiting."

Someone opened the door for Iris, and she gave Mr. Jones a good push from the threshold. He stumbled, regained his balance before he hit the dirt, and began to belt out a drunken song about his fair maiden as his portly frame wove a broken path down the street. She dusted her hands off and turned back to the crowd.

"Alright. Who needs a refill?"

This was how she'd spent her nights for the past year. The regulars were easy enough to handle; they teased and flirted, but none of them actually meant anything by it. The strangers were the ones she had to watch. Mr. Tumes kept a close eye on her, but avoiding trouble was always easier than solving it. So, Iris danced in and out of the tables, serving food and ale to one group while being ever mindful of the table just behind her.

"Iris, take this up to the last room on the right," Mr. Tumes said, depositing a plate of freshly cooked food and a mug of ale onto the bar top. "But be careful. He's a mage."

She froze with her hand on the edge of the plate, her brown eyes wide. "A mage? Are you sure it's safe?"

"I wouldn't send you if it wasn't. Besides, I can see the door from here."

She looked up at the railing surrounding the balcony above, and that door was, indeed, in plain sight of the bar. That and Mr. Tumes' reassuring smile bolstered her courage.

"Then I'll be right back."

She picked up the plate and mug and headed for the stairs, neatly avoiding a man with bloodshot eyes and grabbing hands. There was no break in the raucous laughter and loud chatter filling the room, which meant nobody had noticed. A small success on her part.