Murder in Cormyr - Chet Williamson [13]
An angry dwarf with a mallet is a power not to be ignored, and more than a few patrons who had seen it all were soon mumbling, "… uh, Rolf… Rolf started it… yeh, Rolf did it…" and other such comments.
With his free hand Shortshanks grasped Rolf by the ear and pulled on it until the roofer was standing up, though bent over at the waist, for the dwarf still held his ear. "Out with you," Shortshanks said, and with no more explanation than that he led Rolf to the door, yanked it open, and twisted
Rolf's ear like he was cracking a whip, so that the lad was flung outside.
Shortshanks slammed the door shut and swung round, glowering at his clientele. "No more trouble tonight," he said, "from anybody." His words were not loud, but we all decided to follow the command implicitly.
The first to speak was Dovo, who was brushing himself off. "I thank you for your wise justice, brother Shortshanks, and to show my appreciation, I should like to buy a drink for all here!" Shortshanks's eyebrows went up, as close to a smile as he got. Then Dovo added, "Although I don't know how so many people are going to get more than a few drops of a single drink…" and started laughing. Shortshanks frowned again, and he curtly ordered Sunfirth to clean up the mess and charge it to Rolf's account.
The girl did as she was told, and recorded the damages in the large account book kept just behind the bar. I felt sorry for her, having to clean up after idiots every night. And speaking of idiots, Dovo remained on the scene, wiping the mess off himself with a bar towel, assuming, no doubt, that his wife would get his clothes clean.
I sat for another half hour, chatting and listening to the drivel that passes for conversation among those slowly getting drunk. Now and then I fancied that I was the great Camber Fosrick, sitting disguised as a wizard's servant in some back-alley watering hole where the vermin of crime met to hatch their dastardly plots. Such a fantasy was difficult to maintain, what with the talk of barley yields and rainfall (or lack thereof), but it got me through the dull patches.
And I was glad I lingered, for at about nine o'clock, in through the door walked one of the most prime specimens of womanhood that I have ever seen.
7
Her perfect if stern face was framed by red hair, cropped off just beneath the woman's chin, leaving her neck bare. She wore a broadbelt that supported a steel bustier, mail leggings, and a leather skirt that was open in front almost to her generous hips.
From the broadbelt hung an assortment of bladed weapons, all of which legally bore peacestrings upon their hilt, though I suspected these symbols of nonaggression would not have prevented the woman from drawing any of her blades efficiently. Although the armor and weaponry was daunting, they did not manage to hide a glorious face and, shall we say, a healthy body that now positioned itself at the dark end of the bar.
"Who," I asked the all-knowing tailor, "is that?"
"Must be Kendra," he said quietly. "An adventuress." I had heard of her. But her reputation, though impressive, had not nearly done her justice. "Heard she was coming to the Vast Swamp," the tailor went on. "Supposed to be looking for treasure there."
Her looks alone were treasure enough for a hundred men, I thought, but I kept my opinion to myself. Others were not so tactful. It came as no surprise to me when Dovo lumbered up to Kendra and sat down next to the woman. "Buy you an ale, missy?"
I hope I'm never looked at that coldly by a woman. If Dovo had been any other man, his blood would have frozen, and once it thawed he'd have been on his merry way. But his skull was as thick as his muscles, and he merely leered in response to her sneer. "And what are you?" she said, examining his stained clothing. "Slop boy?"
He colored then, and drew himself up. "Slop boy, is it? Not hardly, missy!"
"Nay indeed!" shouted a tavern wag, safely from a dark corner. "A nail gatherer!"
"A fire stoker!" cried another, given the anonymity of the mob and the tavern's darkness.