Branches of Fire

Part Thirty-Seven

Loud, raucous laughter assaulted my ears as I stepped into the warm light of the inn and pushed the hood of my cloak so it fell onto my back. People milled about the cramped room, some seated at low round tables while others lent against a battered old bar that took up the entire left wall, nursing drinks in their hands as they shouted at each other over the noise. A fireplace with a cheerful, crackling fire sat on the wall to the right, the once red brick of the chimney stained with thick black soot. A bard sat in one corner, strumming some kind of string instrument and singing something barely audible over the other patrons, though a few cheerful folk seemed to be singing along while sloshing their drinks onto the worn timber floor.

Directly in front of us sat a wide counter with a portly middle aged woman stood behind it, passing over plates of food to the waiting customers Occasionally a younger girl would bring up trays of steaming food to the woman from a swinging door behind the counter, and I could glimpse what looked like a kitchen through the door before it swung shut once more. Just to the right of the counter, a staircase curved out of sight, considerably darker than the rest of the room.

Will strode up to the counter, pushing back his own hood and indicating to the woman he wanted to speak to her. She finished handing a couple more plates over, then wiped her hands on the stained white apron that was tied around her thick waist and came over to us.

"Hello there dear, were you needing a room for the night?" she asked cheerfully, face creasing into a bright smile. She tucked a few errant strands of hair that had fallen loose of the high bun she kept it in.

Will nodded, gesturing to me. "Yes, please. For me and my companion."

The woman glanced over at me, smiling at me as well as she opened up a dog-eared book that was sat on the counter and thumbed through it to the correct page. "Oh, I'm afraid we only have one room left, what with the festival of fire being only a week away. It's got one double bed, will that be suitable?" she asked.

Ah right, I forgot that was coming up.

The festival of fire was held on the longest day of each year, and celebrated the God of Fire Bolcan that resided in the volcano that sat behind the capital city. People from all over the country would often travel to the capital to celebrate, and from what I'd heard the festival was a massive affair that the royal family organised. I'd been to much smaller versions back in Lindow, though for the past few years I hadn't gone.

Will looked down at me and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged and nodded, and he turned back to the woman and confirmed it would be fine.

It'll certainly beat sleeping in the rain.

The woman lifted a pen and opened her mouth to ask something when a commotion even louder than the already current noise level came from the bar. We looked over to see a couple of men grabbing each others collars while shouting, glasses they had been holding smashed into hundreds of pieces on the ground. The patrons nearest them had backed away, clearly unwilling to get involved in the scuffle. The woman we were talking to scowled deeply, nostrils flaring as her hand darted into one of the large pockets of her apron. When her hand re-emerged, her fingers were threaded through a set of brightly polished brass knuckles that sat perfectly against her knuckles as though made for her. She slammed that hand hard against the counter with a boom that seemed to echo while shouting "OI!"

A hush fell over the crowd of people at the inn, even the bard stopping his music with a disjointed note. Both the men that had caused the disturbance looked over at the woman, their eyes wide and the colour draining from their faces.

"Jacko, Rodney, you two better clean up the mess you just made or I'll be making yer both pick up pieces of yer own fucking bodies from the floor and using yer arses to mop up the blood," the woman screamed, face turning red.