“I think she likes you,” Brando said when they were far enough from the shop. “I mean, she didn’t give me a new money pouch, and she kept fluttering her eyelashes at you. You noticed, right?”

Fin looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Oh, I noticed. I completed a quest there.”

“What? Like identifying all of Cynthia’s gems for free?” Brando asked with an accusatory look. “I’m pretty sure you saved her a week’s worth of work in there.”

“No, I mean, it said that she was attracted to me,” Fin stated, embarrassed. “It felt like I knew something I wasn’t supposed to. Especially when she started going on about how she could tell how good of a kisser someone is based on their handshake.”

“She said that?!” Brando exclaimed and then held out his hand. “Try it on me.”

Fin recoiled from Brando’s outstretched hand. “Get that thing away from me. I’m not shaking your hand, Brando!”

Brando laughed and lowered his hand. “Your loss. What did the quest say?”

Fin read his quest notifications out loud. “Weird, right?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. Dragons must have had some strange courting rituals.” Brando deepened his voice and mimicked a stern father, “What are your intentions with my daughter?” He pitched his tone higher and said, “Well, sir, I really like her. I know it’s soon, but one day I would really like to kick her ass.” He mimicked the father again, “You seem to be a decent dragon, so when it’s time, watch out for her left hook.”

“This quest seems familiar. I think this is the one my father told me about!” Fin exclaimed. “Except, he only mentioned having to battle his offspring. He never mentioned anything about sowing his wild oats everywhere.”

“It’s probably best if you don’t mention that one to your mom right away,” Brando suggested. “At least not until you first straighten out the story with your father. Which one are you going to choose?”

Fin looked at Brando incredulously. “None of them. I’m not going to fight the girl I like, and I’m not interested in planting a family forest.”

“But you would fight a girl you don’t like?” Brando asked, glaring at Fin with mock disappointment.

“I didn’t say that.” Fin protested.

“Mm-hmm.” Brando crossed his arms.

“Anyway, don’t we have things to do?” Fin changed the subject.

“I mean, we could stick to the plan, but if you’re more interested in challenging Cynthia to a duel, it’s up to you,” Brando said before lifting his hands to thwart any potential attack. “Okay, okay, let’s go find a bathhouse. You can pick a fight with Cynthia later.”

When they found a bathhouse, they were each given a white bathrobe and a brief rundown of the establishment’s rules. They were offered a wide variety of soaps, scrubs, and creams for purchase which they each splurged on. The attendant asked if they had any questions before he left.

“Do you have beard oil for sale?” Brando asked, instinctively running a hand through his facial hair.

“Yes,” the attendant answered. “We have an assortment of oils for sale after you are finished with the baths. If the oil gets in the water, it’s nothing but bad news, so we don’t offer it until the end. The hot spring that supplies the water would wash it away eventually, but if everybody oiled their beards in there, well, they would get out looking like a well-oiled pig. No offense to the pig, of course.”

After washing himself in the private but musty-smelling stall, Fin found himself in a rather awkward predicament. The bath robes provided by the establishment covered enough for the bare minimum amount of comfort. However, the public part of the public bath loomed just ahead, and he didn’t quite know how he felt about disrobing in front of everyone. As far as he could tell, no one in the public bath seemed concerned. If becoming culturally diverse meant soaking in a hot spring bath with a bunch of other naked men, then so be it. He gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

Before him, a circuit of water bubbled up from a square bath that could fit seven people uncomfortably. He could tell by the steam that the smaller bath was significantly hotter. From there, the water ran in a trench to a larger bath that could fit around twenty people. He couldn’t tell where the free-flowing water went from there, but he assumed there was a path somewhere inside the pool.

He spotted Brando, who was soaking in the larger bath, talking to an old man. Sounds of their conversation echoed a thousand ways inside the large stone chamber, disguising their words behind a rich texture of tones. He walked past them, quickly doffing his robe and getting into the smaller bath. Mostly because no one else was in there.

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“You sure the water isn’t too hot in there?” Brando asked with words nearly indistinguishable. “The man said that the water is running a little hot today, and if we didn’t want to ‘Boil our eggs,’ we would be safer in here.”

Fin started to notice a tingling sensation on his skin. It was almost like the tingling he felt when the ants bit his legs. Deciding not to let his pain resistance trick him into melting his skin off, he quickly exited the smaller pool. Not wanting to stand around naked, he jumped into the larger one.

“Hey, take it easy,” Brando admonished. “No jumping in. If it’s not a rule, it’s at least a common courtesy.”

“Sorry,” Fin said, lowering his body until only his head was exposed.

“Glad you could join us,” The old man said, wiping the splashed water out of his eyes. He had long white hair that he kept neatly tied behind his head. He had matching hair covering his chest that moved around in Fin’s wake. “I accidentally got into the hot side once. Down to my knees, anyway. Nearly jumped in here myself to cool off.”

“Fin, this is an actual priest of Frome,” Brando lifted his hands out of the water to gesture towards the man. “While you’ve been taking your sweet time getting out here, we’ve been discussing the ethical dilemmas of posing as an official of Frome. He said that the dirt in my fingernails makes me a priest already!”

“I said no such thing,” the old man stated. “I was alluding to the fact that Frome uses everyone for his purposes, not unlike the refuse in a compost pile. So technically, you don’t have to pretend to be his servant when you are already serving in one capacity or another. I just pointed out the dirt in your nails so you wouldn’t forget to clean them.”

“I might have a question, too,” Fin found a seat along the ledge of the pool. “Uh, how should I address you?”

“You may call me Your Holy Eminence,” the old man said with a serious look before breaking into a smile. “Just a little joke. My name is Gerome.”

Fin laughed and continued, “My question is about dragons. Let’s say I grew these potatoes that somehow absorbed dragon magic, and it gave me dragon powers. I know that Frome battled a dragon once, so does that mean Frome wouldn’t like me?”

“Out of all the theological questions I’ve been asked in this bath, this one might be the most unique,” Gerome chuckled to himself and then pondered out loud. “I might see where you’re getting at. If you accidentally eat, let’s call them, medicinal potatoes, and they make you think you are a dragon and see fairies and the like, I believe Frome would completely understand. As long as you don’t abuse these potatoes. There’s a time and a place, my boy.”

“You are saying I should only use my powers for good and not selfish reasons?” Fin extrapolated. “And I’ll stay in the good graces of Frome?”

“Precisely!” Gerome exclaimed. “Now, if you two will excuse me, it appears my mid-afternoon bath time has expired. It has been a pleasure talking with you two. Stop by the church and see me any time.”

When the naked priest was thankfully out of sight, Fin turned to Brando. “Speaking of ethical dilemmas, do you think that by not telling the authorities here about the slave camp, we are holding out for selfish reasons? I mean, Heidle told us to go to the dwarves, but there are other people in there besides him. I know I would want us to tell everyone possible.”

“He funded our trip,” Brando said, holding the bulk of his beard in the water. “It’s our duty to tell the dwarves after we oil our beards. You might want to opt for a shave, though. I couldn’t grow a proper beard until my late twenties. I also think we should tell everyone who will listen. Including the king.”

“And if something happens to us, we would be a lot happier that someone else knew about it,” Fin said, feeling his sparse facial hair. “You don’t think I should keep my facial hair when we meet the dwarves? I think it’s a sign of respect or something.”

“You should follow your heart on that one,” Brando offered. “I know that if I looked like you, I would try to cover my face completely.”

“I think Cynthia would argue otherwise,” Fin parried.

Brando smiled and slapped Fin on the back, splashing water everywhere. “That she would.”

When Brando’s beard was properly oiled, the bath attendant offered Fin a shave. Fin took it as a sign and resigned himself into the chair.

Brando paid three extra copper coins to keep wearing the thigh-high robe and placed his dirty clothes in a bag. Appalled at the prospect of walking outside in nothing but a robe, Fin donned his old clothes. After a brief conversation with the attendant, the two had an idea about where to go next. They thanked the man, tipped him well, and left the bathhouse.