Grugg took a second to take in the information that they were indeed being followed before nodding to Gregor. “Oh, by Gregor?”
“No.” The ratman’s fur was slicked down by the rain, and he bared his teeth in frustration. “Some people in hooded cloaks. I tried to follow them, but the rain makes me sneeze, and it may have alerted them.”
“Think Grugg saw-” Grugg began before Gregor's sneezing interrupted him. “Think Grugg saw something when in clothes shop.”
The ratman looked back over to the sign, gently swaying in the breeze. “Threads? Don’t know much about her, doesn’t appear to be entangled within the web of crime in this town. Yet.”
[She seemed pretty nice to me.]
Grugg beamed at the return of the wizard’s voice ringing inside his head and catching the eye of the increasingly annoyed ratman explained. “Wizard was quiet for a while, but back now”. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to alleviate any of Gregor's frustration.
“That’s not- look. Can we go somewhere less obvious?” He turned and walked away without waiting for the cyclops to respond.
[Best follow him; he knows where we sleep.]
----------------------------------------
Through a couple of winding streets and alleys, they followed the ratman. Although the rain had kept most people indoors, there was still the odd person they crossed paths with. Grugg gave each of them a discerning stare in case they were one the ones supposedly keeping tabs on them. But, whether they were or not, they avoided his gaze and hurried on to minding their own business as fast as they could. Eventually, somebody would have to own up to it, he thought to himself; villains couldn’t keep their plans to themselves.
Gregor stopped suddenly and pointed to a building beside them before entering the open door. It was a run-down looking place, where some of the wooden beams were chipped, the paint had flaked from the decorative window shutter, and some of the walls looked like they would crumble away under a strong breeze. Grugg looked up at the sign, hanging lopsided from above the door - one of the support chains slightly loose. The Drowned Rat.
[That’s pretty apt.]
For once, the joke did not go over Grugg’s head as he stood unabashed by the lashing rain. Quite possibly, the biggest grin that he had ever mustered had stretched widely across his face, and he fought the urge to point and laugh at the coincidence of all places that the drenched Gregor had decided to relocate to; it would be here. Perhaps it would be poor form to compare the ratman to an actual rat, though. He wasn’t too sure about the social etiquette about that. Keeping the smile to himself now, he squeezed for the slightly narrow doorway into the building.
The owner definitely kept to expectations by allowing the interior of the tavern to fall to the same level of disrepair as the outside. The nature of the building was now unmistakable due to the stale smell of alcohol. Gray warped wooden floorboards that were covered in spilled ale and other grime, the furniture a good few years beyond needing repair or replacement, and cobwebs hung from the lofty ceiling. It was a drab place, aided in this aesthetic by one of the hanging lights having fallen down at some point, leaving the bar room half dimly lit. A U-shaped counter sat against the far wall with several pumps and ale barrels.
Gregor was at the bar and slid the man standing behind it a coin, the metal scraping against the rough countertop. The barkeep took it and nodded to one of the booths on the unlit side of the tavern. The man was tall and stocky, wearing a leather apron over a grubby cloth shirt. To Grugg, he looked more like a butcher. Certainly, with those large hands and sour grimace underneath the heavy unibrow, he wasn’t as inviting as most people he had come across in the town. Not people that were in the business of selling you things, anyway.
As Grugg followed the ratman over to the designated booth, he scanned the room. It was quiet - only a few other patrons who looked either down on their luck or otherwise trying to escape something through the bottom of their ale mug. For the most part, they paid him no attention, needing no problems further than what they already bore. Finally, however, in a booth on the opposite side, a small group of men gave him a dirty look before returning to their own business.
The wide and pretty uneven bench inside the booth creaked in complaint as the cyclops sat down opposite Gregor. A look of annoyance had remained on the ratman’s face since he had found them, and he folded his arms as he stared at Grugg. Eventually, he sighed, and with a glance around the room, began to talk.
“So, I had been following you all morning, and it was pretty boring until you entered that clothes shop.”
[Why had he been following us?]
“Why follow us?” Grugg repeated. “Could have come and helped.”
“I had to make sure you weren’t up to any criminal activity first. You are pretty straightforwardly boring, which isn’t a crime, unfortunately.” Gregor relaxed now, defeated.
“Grugg wants to stop crime, too.” He shrugged and tapped on the table. “Gregor must give trust if he is going to help with investigation.”
Gregor opened his mouth but closed it again, and looked down at the table.
[Ask if he saw any details about who was following us. I am not going to use Voice in this place; it’s giving me bad vibes.]
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
“So, assistant. What did Gregor see? Who was following Grugg?” He wished he had a notepad to write in to add to the legitimacy of his question. Maybe he could find a store to sell him some on the way out of here. That would really impress the wizard.
“Well… they had a black cloak on, the hood was up,” Gregor recalled, scratching his chin as he thought. “Didn’t get a chance to see their face, but they were average in size, slight build, and had decent boots on.”
“Not big Lady then?”.
“No, much smaller build. Definitely humanoid, and probably not too old. Male.” He pointed to his nose. “Not too bad at sniffing some things out. Living under the tavern, some smells are pretty recognizable.”
[Do not ask him to elaborate on that.]
Grugg wasn’t sure what elaborate meant, but it sounded painful. He cupped his chin with his hand to think. He had only been acquainted with two men since coming to the town, and he doubted Harold or the tavern-keeper would be personally following him around. Well, three if you counted Gregor, but he wouldn’t be telling on himself; he wasn’t even wearing a black cloak. The two possibilities for Grugg were either the group with the eye symbol or the people messing with Bart’s death report. Unless they were one and the same…
“I came here because it’s a good place for some privacy. Also, some bad apples like to hang out here - so we might be able to get some information.”
[That would be why I was getting bad vibes.]
“So what now? Grugg thinks most of these people have no clues. Or apples.”
“I know it’s no fault of your own, but it’s really odd when you talk about yourself in the third person when you also claim to have another voice in your head.”
“Voice is in hat, not my-” Grugg began to explain but stopped at the approach of footsteps.
The trio of investigators turned to the group of men from the opposite booth, who were now walking over to them. There were four of them, each a different shade of rough and dangerous. Possibly bandits, or bounty hunters, maybe even just some gang members. Grugg didn’t see Helpart as a town large enough to have such a large seedy underbelly, but it had seemed crime was rife. All the better for him and his aspirations, he supposed.
The leader of the group had greasy, slicked black hair and a choppy short beard. Scars lined his tanned face, and there was an intense look in his eyes that belied the implication that he wasn’t afraid to add to his scar collection, given half the chance. They all wore some manner of the same uniform, dyed black leathers that had silver studs along the seams. The other three members were dangerous and experienced-looking in their own right, strong and battle-hardened. Sheathed weapons lay attached to their hips or thighs, several with hands already resting upon handles for quick access.
[They don’t appear to have any logos or insignias on their uniform.]
“Well, fellas. Look what we have here - a veritable 'Drowned Rat' and an ogre with only half the right amount of eyes. He’s like an ogre version of you, Reggie!” He turned to the group member behind him with an eye patch and a thick mop of dirty brown hair. Reggie just pulled a humorless, and mostly toothless, grin back at the leader.
“Cyclops”. Grugg replied and received a swift kick under the table from the ratman, who was probably hurt himself more than Grugg.
“Oh, fancy! I do apologize, Mr. Cyclops. I hope I didn’t offend.” The mocking tone was laid on thick enough that even Grugg grunted in disdain.
[Don’t let him rile you up; they could still be dangerous - and they could be helpful alive.]
“Ser Frank, ‘Shadow of Helpart’. Shame you’re not as quiet as your moniker,” Gregor hissed, the tip of his tail twirling in the air.
“Ah, so my reputation precedes me, rat.” Frank grinned with wild eyes, staring down at Gregor, who returned the glare, unflinching. “Although I am shocked to hear such disrespect-”
“More like Shadow of Hell-Fart. Stinky." Grugg blurted out, interrupting the incensed man, while pulling a face.
[I do not advise this course of action.]
A silence fell over the tavern, nobody daring to make a noise. Even the drunkard in the corner who had been murmuring to himself sat statuesque, joining the rest of the patrons in anticipation of how Frank would react. Gregor sat with a half-grin on his face, at least more amused than the wizard had been. Grugg was sure he saw one of the goons stifle a laugh before remaining poker-faced.
The Shadow placed his hands on the end of their table and lowered his head, some strands of greased hair coming out of place and succumbing to gravity. His fingers whitened as he clenched onto the table, and his shoulders shook. A few seconds passed before he seemed to calm, and he looked back up to the cyclops with a bright red face and dark-ringed eyes bulging.
“I do not appreciate your tone. As you are newcomers to this fine establishment—which is my turf—I just wanted to give you a warm welcome. But it seems what you need is a lesson to be taught.” Spittle shot forth as punctuation as the man battled to keep his composure.
“Ser Grugg here could certainly use a lesson in Common - if you are offering.” The ratman shrugged.
“Hey, that not fair. Grugg sounds much smarter in Giant. Common hard to learn.”
[I think you are doing alright, friend. I’ve known great mages with a worse grasp of the language.]
“Yeah, but if ser is offering, then-”
“Maybe Gregor should have lessons in trust-”
“You shouldn’t look so crime-adjacent-”
“The one who is being sneaky is Gregor!”
[Grugg, I think you should get ready; he is-]
“ALRIGHT! Both of you have tested my patience.” Frank stood upright, eyes blazing with fury. “Leave now. Otherwise, I will kill you where you stand.”
“Alright, alright. Ser Grugg, we best do as ‘The Shadow’ says.” Gregor stood with a shrug, folding his arms as he waited for Frank to move away from their table to give him space to leave.
“Gregor,” the cyclops whispered, not exactly quietly. “Has Shadow-man committed any crimes?”
The ratman turned his head back to Grugg, a sharp-toothed sneer appearing along his snout. “Oh yes, most likely dozens.”
“Oh, good,” Grugg replied, standing and turning towards the gang of men, a candle-lit gleam of thick metal strapped to his right fist contrasting with the blazing electric blue of his eye.