Tortured's Tale

Chapter 5

He had had only one glass of rum before the stranger caught his attention. The person walked - or rather stumbled - into the inn about ten minutes ago and collapsed into a chair in the left corner of the room. The inn was full tonight and the innkeeper didn't care much that the individual hadn't ordered anything as long as there were no blood and broken bones on the horizon.

"I see she caught your eye.", said the innkeeper leaning on the massive wooden board encircling the well-stocked bar.
"I would say she's from some gutter were it not for that blade. Ain't look she can use it thou. Looks like she hasn't eaten for days."
The man didn't feel like talking tonight. But he was fond of the landlord and the stranger piqued his interest.
"Have you seen her around here, Barry?"
Barry laughed. He was an impersonation of a proper bartender. Unprejudiced but opinionated.
"Had I seen her I would have told her she better hide that sword before someone decides to do it for her. I haven't seen any like that before. Doubt it's hers either--"
"Hey! Barry! Come here, buddy. We are thirsty!", Barry was called off by three adolescent high-techs.
"Boys, you are drunker than half the inn. You better go home now. You don't want Glen carrying you like last time."
Boys looked at one another. The soberest looking one slurred out an inconsistent reply:
"Barrty, if you give us gin we go to any glen alright. Hahaha...", all three of them burst out laughing. The smallest of them let out burp with vomit and almost fell down while the others attempted to catch him, resulting in merry floor-wallowing for all three of them. After a while, they managed to get back on their feet and staggered towards the exit.
"You take care of yourselves, lads! I don't want to explain to your mothers tomorrow," shouted Barry after them, smiling under his beard and cleaning an aromatic mess that hadn't yet had time to evaporate from the counter.
"Those youngsters... I like 'em but they don't know how to drink. You want anymore?", Barry returned to the man seated in front of the empty rum glass.
"I'm fine for tonight. Thanks."
For a while they were silent. Barry cleaned some glasses and benevolently rented out lodgings to a travelling couple. They were dressed humbly and yet their eyes carried a foreign sparkle. The number of travellers had greatly increased since the wall was dismantled. It was a clear message that Grimwald had become a modern town ready to involve itself in worldly affairs. A sad sight for anyone who spent the majority of their years living in the belief that old ways would prevail.

"Silver! Would you believe it?! They paid me with silver!" Barry exclaimed, returning to the man.
"Do you think she stole it?"
"Say what you will, these high-tech jesters new what they were doing when they put the wall down-- Hmm? You said something?"
"I doubt it. It must be hers."
"What? Oh, the girl. Listen, I don't want to stick my nose into everything that goes and lad, I am fond of you so let me give you an advice.", he leaned closer, "You stay out of it. Some things are better left alone. Mark my words, strange girls and long swords can mean just trouble."
The lad looked intently into the innkeeper's eyes. For a fraction of one moment, Barry would have sworn the man's eyes gleamed, their surface glazed with salty liquid. As unexpectedly as it was born, so quickly it died. The man stood up from the barstool. He was of average height and clad in loose-fitting faded yellow shirt, the kind that has buttons only down to the lower rim of breast muscles, and pale blue jeans that have become so popular with the coming of the new age. Barry thought he resembled chaps he saw a few days ago in the digital magazines in the Sleek street that propagated "vintage wear for prizes fair".
The bartender was not a supporter of the high-techs but he did not hate them either. And although the man may have been young and appeared like one, Barry liked to think he had this "old" air around him. He had never mentioned a name and Barry didn't ask. It didn't matter what the label on the bottle said as long as it was proper good stuff. The same philosophy he applied to people, depending on intuition to a far greater extent than he realized.

"Thanks, Barry." the words were pronounced meticulously but with exhaustion. The man reached into the left trouser pocket and tossed a silver coin onto the counter. It landed with a light thud.
Barry was stunned. His gaze kept shifting between the metal coin and the man standing in front of him.
"Come now, lad. I've had enough of silver surprises for today." The man smiled and slowly uttered the most incredible words Barry's ears were to hear for a long time.
"A bed and a warm dinner for the girl. The rest is for you." With those words, he walked away in the direction of the skeletal shadow.

For a while, the innkeeper heard no sound and saw no thing. He just stood there in his time-worn apron, buried in contemplation of oddity of existence. If someone was to watch him at that moment they would not have seen Barry. What stood behind the counter was bewilderment itself.