The Mists of Sorrow_ Book Seven of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [97]
Nodding, Reilin goes to one of the men passing by and asks, “Excuse me sir, could you tell me which one of these establishments is the Cracked Ladle?”
The man stops and peers at him through squinted eyes as if he’s unable to see well. “The Cracked Ladle you say?” he asks. Casting his eyes around the plaza, they finally stop at one with a red tapestry bearing the design of a sword hanging next to the door. “I believe that is the one there.”
“Thank you good sir,” Reilin says before the man walks away. Returning to the others, he indicates the door with the red banner and says, “It’s that one.”
“Doesn’t look like an eatery,” Stig says.
“No, it doesn’t,” agrees Jiron. Turning to Reilin he asks, “Are you sure that’s the one the man told you?”
Nodding, Reilin replies, “Absolutely.”
“Very well then,” Jiron says. Moving out, he crosses the plaza toward the door next to the red banner. Coming up to it, he takes hold of the handle and pushes it open.
On the other side they find a wide hallway extending further back. Lining the hallway are six suits of armor three to a side, each one from a different nation or era. “I don’t think this place is an eatery,” whispers Reilin when he sees the armor.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Jiron says as he passes through the doorway. His feet echo off the hardwood floor. Gazing down at it, he suddenly realizes whatever this place is, it has money. A floor like this, especially in this part of the world, had to have cost a fortune.
Just after the six suits of armor, the hallway ends at an open archway. On the other side is a large room, richly furnished. Couches, chairs and tables are spaced in such a way as to afford at least a small amount of privacy to those using them. Rugs line the floor and tapestries hang along the walls. Not cheap ones, these look to be made of fine cloth by master artisans. A few statues sprinkled here and there give the room an even added touch of elegance.
The room is empty but for a lone gentleman sitting at one of the tables reading a book. As they enter the room the man looks up from his reading, his expression is one of irritation. His eyes never leave them as Jiron comes to a stop just within the room.
He looks at the man then glances around the room in the hopes of someone else making an appearance that they could deal with. When after a minute of fruitless waiting, he sighs and begins walking over to the man.
Reilin walks at his side and notices the man’s mood turns darker when he realizes they mean to approach him. “Good day,” Reilin greets the man as they reach the table. Coming to a stop, they give the man a slight, respectful bow in the hopes of mellowing out his mood.
Unresponsive, the man continues to glare at them.
“We were hoping you could tell us if this is in fact the Cracked Ladle?” Reilin asks.
The man’s eyes flick from one to the other. He closes his book and sets it on the table before him. “It is,” he replies.
Reilin turns to the others and translates, “He said it is.”
“Good,” says Jiron.
Jiron was just about to tell Reilin to ask about Azku when the man says in perfect northern, “I can understand you.”
“Thank goodness,” he says turning to the man. “This doesn’t look like an eatery.”
“That’s because it isn’t,” the man explains. Remaining ramrod straight in his chair, the man’s expression hasn’t softened in the least.
“Oh?” asks Stig. “What kind of place is this?”
“One where those who are not invited are not welcome,” he states. “You are intruding where you don’t belong. Please leave.”
“But we have come a very long way,” objects Jiron. “We very much need to find a man by the name of Azku. We’ve been told he comes here.”
The man’s eyes react slightly when Jiron said the name ‘Azku’, then returns to the same perturbed expression once more. “Please leave,” the man says again. “I don’t wish to tell you a third time.”
Jiron locks gazes with the man and begins contemplating the ramifications if he were to force the man to talk to them.
“Oh, hello,” a voice says from behind them, also in northern.
They turn to see another man, this