Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [64]
Rhys and Nightshade sat on crates as near one of the cracks as possible, and even then Nightshade found that the smell almost ruined his appetite. Atta’s nose twitched constantly, and she sneezed and snuffled.
In addition to no tables and no windows, there was no laughter, no merriment. The bartender dispensed a dubious liquor he claimed was dwarf spirits, but that probably wasn’t, pouring it into dented tin mugs that had been salvaged from the wreckage. The patrons drank alone for the most part, sunken in misery, staring in stupefaction at the rats that skittered across the floor and who were the only ones enjoying themselves, at least until they spotted Atta. Having been forbidden to chase them, Atta watched the vermin with narrowed eyes and, when one came too near, growled at it.
One of the patrons drinking that day was Lleu.
Rhys and Nightshade had lost track of Lleu for a short time, then, quite by accident, they picked up his trail, heading south from Solace, not east. They traced him to the city of New Port located on New Bay in the southern portion of New Sea. Rhys wondered why his brother was traveling south, when the other Beloved were being drawn to the east. He had his answer when he reached New Port. Lleu had booked passage on a ship sailing to Flotsam, due to leave in a few days’ time.
Finding Lleu had not been difficult. Rhys had simply gone from disreputable bar to disreputable bar, giving Lleu’s description to the barkeeps. In New Port, they located him on the third try.
The barkeepers always remembered Lleu, for he stood out from the other customers, who were generally a slovenly lot, slaves to the dwarf spirits that ruled their lives. Those “caught by the dwarf,” as the saying went, were generally gaunt and pale—for the liquor became bread and meat to them; their eyes were dull, their cheeks hollow. Lleu, by contrast, was hale and hearty, handsome and charming. He had long since abandoned the robes of a cleric of Kiri-Jolith and was now wearing the shirt and doublet, leather boots and woolen stockings of a young man of genteel birth.
Somehow or other he’d come by money, for his clothes were well-to-do and he had managed to pay the steep price for his voyage. Perhaps one of his victims had been wealthy. Either that, or he’d taken to thieving, which wouldn’t be surprising. After all, Lleu had nothing to fear from the law, who would be in for a severe shock if they tried to hang him.
When Rhys entered the Dingy, Lleu looked at him, then looked away. There was no recognition in the dead eyes. Lleu had no memory of Rhys or of anything. Lleu knew his name, and that was all he knew. Chemosh told him who he was, presumably. What he had been was forever lost.
The other patrons in the tavern were absorbed in drinking and wanted nothing to do with a stranger, so Lleu kept up a cheerful conversation with himself. He bragged about his carousing and the women who threw themselves at him. He laughed at his own jokes and sang bawdy songs, and Rhys’s heart ached. Lleu drank until he ran out of coins to pay for his spirits, then he tried to drink on credit. The barkeep was having none of that, however, yet Lleu continued to sit there, his mug in his hand.
This went on throughout the afternoon. Lleu would forget from one moment to the next he had nothing to drink and would lift the mug to his lips. Finding it empty, he would bang the mug on the crate and demand more in a loud voice. The barkeep, knowing he couldn’t pay, simply ignored him. Lleu would continue to bang the mug on the crate until he forgot why he was doing this, and then he would set it down. After a few moments, he’d pick it up and shout for more drink.
Rhys sat