The Mists of Sorrow_ Book Seven of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [84]
“That can’t be the place,” Stig says. “It looks deserted.”
“Could be intentional,” Shorty suggests.
“We’ll find out,” Jiron says as he moves toward the door. Pausing at the foot of the three steps leading up to the door, he glances back and says, “Stay alert.” Indicating for Reilin to accompany him, he turns back and takes the steps up to the door where he knocks three times. When nothing happens he knocks again, this time louder.
The sound of a floorboard creaking comes through the door. “Someone’s in there,” whispers Reilin.
Jiron nods. He places his ear against the door just as the sound of the deadbolt being pulled back comes through to them. Then, the door opens a crack and a voice from the dark within asks, “Yes?”
Reilin looks at Jiron who nods toward the crack and mouths ‘Go ahead’. “We were told this is The Split Navel,” he says.
The voice from within the darkness remains silent for a moment then says, “I think you have the wrong place.”
As the door begins to shut, Reilin exclaims, “Gryll sent us!”
The door pauses and the darkness remains quiet. “Gryll you say?” the voice asks after a moment.
“That’s right,” affirms Reilin. “He said this was a good place to go for women.”
“How do you know Gryll?” the voice asks.
Reilin glances over to Jiron who’s beginning to look impatient. Returning his attention back to the voice he says, “We helped him with a job up north.”
“Indeed,” the voice says. “One minute.” Then the door closes.
“What did he say?” Jiron asks.
Reilin relates in a quiet whisper what they said to one another. By the time he’s done, steps can be heard coming from within moving toward the door. This time when the door opens, a small amount of light escapes.
“Welcome gentlemen,” a man no more than three feet tall says as the door opens all the way. A hallway leads twenty feet into the building where it ends at another door that’s closed. The light is coming from a candle sitting in a wall recess midway down on the left. There are no doors other than the ones at either end of the hallway.
“So this is The Split Navel?” asks Reilin.
“Yes,” replies the short man. Once all the others have entered, the short man again closes the door and throws the bolt. Turning, the man begins walking toward the other door.
“Creepy,” whispers Shorty.
Scar gives him a nod in reply.
As they move down the hallway, they begin to hear the sound of voices coming from behind the other door. A bark of laughter followed by several curses being shouted in anger does nothing to put them at ease. Just before they reach the door a man cries out in pain.
Smoke billows out from beyond the door as the short man opens it, acrid smoke that smells quite foul. As the door opens completely, they see a fair sized room with many tables spaced about the room. Two men are dragging the body of a man from the table closest to the door toward a door on the far side of the room. A telltale red streak left by the man being dragged reveals that he must have been the one who cried out.
Jiron follows the short man into the room and is led over to a table near the middle. The eyes of many of the other patrons follow them as they cross over to it and take their seats. Without a word, the short man turns and moves toward the door through which they entered.
A lone serving woman makes her way through the tables, and places two tankards of ale before two men at a table against the wall. Easily in her forties or above, she has the look of one whose life has been anything but easy. A massive woman, her unkempt brown hair streaked with gray is tied back in a ponytail. Her face may have been comely at one time, but now it shows rigid lines and seems to be set in a permanent grimace.
She casts her eyes toward Jiron and the others, takes notice that they are there, then without a hint of acknowledgment, returns to the bar. Four more tankards are waiting for her. Picking them up, she makes her way through