The Silken Key

Chapter 3

'The Whiskered Squid' wasn't a place Detlef had been to before. He'd heard it mentioned a lot and knew it was a popular tavern. Rector Boso had always cursed it as a place where trouble and gossip grew like pumpkins in a dirt patch.

Today, trouble and gossip were the very things Detlef was hunting for.

As soon as he opened the door he was hit by the pungent smell of beer - which seemed to mostly come from the dirty wooden floor - and unwashed bodies. The air was filled with smoke from tobacco pipes and dozens of men and women were laughing drunkenly, even though it was the middle of the day.

Detlef stooped under the door, struggling to get his halberd inside. The ceiling was unusually low and damaged in several places with what looked like accidental fist-marks. There were large windows on all sides of the bar area, yet it seemed peculiarly dark.

He wandered in slowly, looking around and studying the various people in the tavern. They were an interesting bunch, for sure. Most were local labourers, who happened to have not been hired by anyone today so they were spending yesterday's wages. Many were travellers from other lands.

He saw a small group of dwarves and made a decision to avoid them; dwarves were famous for behaving badly after too much beer. He also saw an orc having an argument with a man who simply looked like an orc. There was a man in strange green clothes who appeared to be a half-elf.

With such a variety of people in one place, surely there had to be someone who needed a strong, devout guardian to see them safely to their destination?

"Excuse me?" Detlef said, tapping the shoulder of a nearby man who didn't seem to be wobbling around on his feet too much. "Do you know anyone who has some work for a capable fighter?"

"Fight-a?" The man slurred, turning around, looking at Detlef with bleary eyes and speaking with an accent from the far southern lands. "Fight-a?? You want-a fight-a me? Come on! Put up-a your fists, we go right-a now you ugly son-of-a..."

"Woah! So sorry! My mistake!" Detlef backed away with his open hand raised calmingly. He bumped into another man with a wiry beard and a drunken grin, who turned and leaned up against Detlef.

"Oooh it's yoooooou!" the bearded man said, talking as though his tongue was too big for his mouth.

"Do we...know each other?" Detlef asked.

"I'll never forget what you -hic- did for me! You're my best friend. I'm going to let you -hic- buy me another drink!"

With that, the man - whom Detlef was pretty sure he'd never met in his life - slid off Detlef's arm and onto the floor in a crumpled heap, fast asleep. This isn't going very well, Detlef thought to himself.

He looked around again. He decided he was going to have to be perceptive about this. Who looked like they were heading into danger and might need help? Who looked like they were set on an adventure that would benefit from God's blessing and an extra pair of strong arms?

Then he saw someone who looked perfect. It was a man with olive-brown skin and pitch-black hair, dressed in the style of the eastern lands, slipping his way through the crowd with purpose in his eyes.

Detlef manoeuvred himself so that he stepped out in front of the man at just the right moment.

"My name is Detlef Slatesword," he began without being asked. "You are from the eastern continent, are you not? I sense you are travelling with a purpose. If you so wish, my blade and my skills are yours to accompany you on your journey."

The man stared at Detlef without a hint of expression before answering. "What...you mean to the toilet? No thank you, I'm sure I will be OK by myself."