“You’re definitely sure that’s them?” Jess asked.

Nevin nodded, eyes focused on the two men that made their way down the street.

The ragged looking pair were dressed in plaid shirts and work trousers that were patched at the knees with leather. The younger one, with short, cropped hair and a couple of days growth of stubble upon his face walked a little behind, wringing a hat in his hand. The elder was a man who was possibly in his mid-forties, though the grizzled beard with streaks of grey may have been hiding the features of a younger man.

Mike had been kind enough to ask around for more information on the hunters under the guise of being concerned about how best to avoid the slime. Rumours and gossip had finally led them to sit in wait outside their usual haunt. Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be a pub. Jess hadn’t been pleased to find out that it was in a seedy area of the city. She had been forced to quash a childish grin when she read the sign above the main entrance. The bright letters that had once spelled out “Ye Sly Fox” had begun to peel, leaving the ‘o’ looking like a ‘u’. The rest of the building looked just as tired with half of the small rectangular glass panes in the windows replaced with wooden boards or simply left empty. No music or raucous laughter could be heard from within. The inhabitants within appeared to be exactly as the name of the establishment suggested.

Once the two men had entered through the open wooden door, Jess crept out from her position behind the stack of empty barrels. Nevin joined her in the street.

“I’m heading inside. Don’t wait around here alone though,” Jess said, looking up and down the street.

“What about you though?” asked Nevin with concern. “You’ll be on your own.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jess, “I’m a big girl. You go on and head home. Your Aunt Patty would string me up if she knew I’d got you in trouble.”

He dallied a while, but eventually did as he was asked, leaving Jess outside the pub by herself. Her plan today was a simple one. All she wanted was to confirm that the hunters were working with Master Darkhault, whether toads were all that they supplied, and finally, though she hadn’t shared this with the others, was the toad population stable enough to support such an extensive culling. Nevin’s comment about the quality of the toads had worried her as much as the slimes had.

After a deep breath, she stepped inside. She felt as though she had been blindfolded for a moment; the darkness of the interior contrasted strongly with the bright sunlight outside. It was an unpleasant feeling, made worse by the rancid smell that assaulted her. It was a thick mixture of sweat, ale-soaked floors, and beef dripping – it was easily enough to make a food hygiene inspector weep.

An elderly man with wisps of short white hair stood lazily at what passed for the bar. He eyed Jess with interest as she approached.

“W’ can I getcha?” he slurred.

The taps on barrels behind him looked as though they had never seen a damp cloth, never mind been cleaned.

“I’ll take a glass of anything you wouldn’t be ashamed to serve your mother,” Jess said.

The old man gave a dry chuckle. “I’ve whiskey out back. Pour ya a dram.”

Jess watched as he slowly shuffled away, hoping that he would at least wash the glass first. The few patrons that were seated didn’t look as though they would be bothered either way.

Her two targets were sat at a table by themselves. Two empty chairs stood empty at the same table. Perfect. Awkwardly dragging a chair to join them would raise far too many eyebrows.

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Spread around the room were a scant handful of other men. Most of them of a similar age to the barkeep and of similar cleanliness as the sticky floor that she had walked across. She doubted that many of them would be capable of overhearing a conversation, much less interested in it. Another win.

She twirled her thumbs until the barkeep returned, tottering on unsteady feet. His breath was laboured already by the short exertion. A dented pewter tumbler was slid across the bar top and although the whiskey had no ice, there was a generous amount of the dark liquid within.

“How much do I owe you?” Jess asked.

“Five silver.”

Jess raised an eyebrow at the steep price tag.

“She were a fussy one, my old ma,” the barkeep said, “only the best for that old bird.”

Jess gave a wry smile but counted out the silver without complaint before taking a sip. She was delightfully surprised to find that it was indeed good whiskey.

She took her spoils and headed towards the two seated gents in a way that she hoped looked casual. The two of them looked up as she placed her drink upon the table and quickly seated herself with a smile.

“I hope you don’t mind company,” she said, feigning innocence.

The younger of the two sat wide eyed at her interruption, but the elder was far less concerned, his face remaining expressionless.

“We’re not buying,” the elder man said.

“No,” Jess said, “but I hear you’re selling.”

His reply was flat. “Ain’t selling either.”

Jess tried not to show her exasperation. “How about we stick to trading information then?”

The man grunted. “You don’t have any information I need, Lady.”

“You sure?” Jess asked.

The man crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the back of the chair. His younger companion wasn’t quite so obstinate. His fists were balled tight enough to expose white knuckles, but he didn’t seem the fighting type. Worry lines creased around his eyes instead.

He glanced quickly at the older man before asking, “what information?”

“Hush it,” the elder gent growled.

“But what about –“

“Hush. It.”

Jess interjected before the conversation could break down further. “Listen gents. I was just trying to be friendly. Didn’t want to see you two get hurt, that’s all.”

When the two remained silent, preferring to side-eye one another, she stood and straightened her skirt as though she meant to leave.

The younger of the two broke first. “Wait!”

“Let her go, Boy,” the elder gent insisted, shooting his companion a dark look.

“I ent no boy,” the younger man said before turning back to Jess. “Hurt by what?”

Mindful of the tense atmosphere, Jess sat down once more. “So, you have been hunting in the woods by the slime lake?”

“Tepid lake,” the elder man said.

“What?” Jess asked.

He picked up his drink. “It ain’t slime lake. It’s Tepid Lake,” he said before drinking deeply.

I’ll take that as a yes, even if he won’t say so Jess thought. “I’m assuming that you’ve seen the work that’s happening up there?”

“Some idiot’s building up there,” he said with a look of disdain.

Jess forced a smile. “You don’t approve?”

“Dangerous, Miss,” the younger man said. “It ent safe.”

“Not when you know how to kill them easily,” Jess replied with a forced air of nonchalance.

The older man huffed. “That I’d like to see.”

“How badly?” Jess asked.

The two men’s expressions couldn’t have been less alike. The elder had already written off Jess’s words as nonsense whereas his younger companion appeared enraptured and curious as a child.

“You’ve seen it then?” the younger man asked, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the table. His drink sat forgotten.

“It’s just gossip,” the elder man chided.

“Like I said before,” Jess said, “I just wanted to trade a bit of information. How about I buy you two another round and we can chat a while?”

“And like I said, we ain’t interested,” the elder man said, standing abruptly. His companion grabbed at his sleeve as if to stop him from walking away but was knocked away.

“We’re both leaving,” the elder man said, glowering at the younger one. “Ain’t neither of us hunting in them woods. Not today. Not yesterday. Not ever.”

Jess watched as the younger man was practically dragged to his feet and hauled towards the door. The younger man twisted to give Jess an apologetic shrug before disappearing out of the exit.

Damn.

“Another dram, hen?” the old barkeep called out.

Jess looked up to find his focus on her, though whether he could still see her clearly at this distance was anyone’s guess. In one swift motion, she necked what remained of her drink.

“One more,” she called back. “Today’s a good day for it.”

The barkeep barked a dry laugh. “Every day’s a good day for it, hen.”