Shadowmen

Chapter 6

6

'Ugh! Leave me be!' hissed Scalworth from under a mound of covers.

'It's almost sunrise, you moron, get up!'

'I was having a dream!' exclaimed Scalworth, his curly hair sticking out one under corner of the covers.

'About that bar-maid, I suppose?'

'How did you know that?' Scalworth poked his head out further, looking up at Drake with a guarded expression.

Drake just smirked and threw Scalworth's linen t-shirt at his face.

'Get up, and don't make too much noise. Old Horace wakes easy, as we've found out hundreds of times.'

Drake tried to shake off the feeling of laziness that was clinging off him, pulling him down, as he brewed a pot of strong tea.

He heard a crash from the spare room and rolled his eyes. Seconds later, Scalworth stumbled into the kitchen, pulling his trousers up as he went.

'Want tea?'

'Huh?' he looked up at Drake, bleary eyed.

'Uh, yeah, please,' he mumbled, collapsing into a chair after wrestling with the button on his trousers and losing.

They drank quickly, and left the house just as the night began to drain away.

The Bluebottle Inn was to the south-east of the Steps and the castle, more or less on the edge of the Allos. It was built on one of the busy streets heading west Tradestown, but was three stories, higher than the normal two stories that buildings usually were on the eastside. The building itself was made from wood mainly, like virtually all the buildings to the east of the castle. It looked fairly rickety, and the mud it was anchored in did nothing to improve Drake's reservations.

The interior of the inn was dim, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust.

It was spacious, but messy. The bar was in a far corner of the rectangular shaped room, and the tables were spaced far apart but at awkward places. The floor was wooden, and the boards creaked when they were walked on. The rafters and wooden pillars supporting the room were visibly suffering from dry rot, and dry rot was hard to spot. Despite all its flaws, the bar was quite busy, which surprised Drake, for it was only sunrise.

He looked at the dark corner opposite the bar and strided toward it, Scalworth heading for the bar.

One second Drake had his eyes on the table, then his face hit the floor. He didn't have time to protect it with his hands, didn't have time to cry up.

He groaned and got up slowly, his jaw throbbing. The gigantic boot that had tripped him was sticking out from under the table. Drake looked up at the man with a confused expression more than an angry one. The man pointed out the window at the sun – Drake realised it was the only window in the room – and sighed.

'You're late.' He spoke with a deep strong Halerian accent. His hair was brown and long, and it fell about his shoulders in angry disarray. His face was hard and weather-beaten, but he had controlled features. His eyes were hard and hostile, not giving anything away. Despite his long hair, he was clean shaven.

'Good morning to you too,' grumbled Drake, rubbing his jaw and glaring at the people glancing at them.

'Have a seat,' said the man, staring impassively at Drake until he averted his eyes. To Drake's utter surprise, Scalworth didn't say a word, but sat down across from the man, watching him with a raised eyebrow. Drake sat down, rubbing his jaw but trying to calm his raising temper. He ordered a beer and yawned.