Tom looked around at the growing crowd. So far, so good. Lots of curiosity, which is fine. I'll probably be answering questions all through dinner.

A young barmaid with brown hair came over to their table. “Good evening! Welcome to…” She stopped and stared at the elves for a moment, then at Tom. She put the smile back on her face. “Ah, welcome to the Floating Duck! I'm Debbie. What can I get for you?”

“What's for dinner?” Tom asked.

Debbie pretended to think a moment. “Well, there's stew, stew, or stew.” She grinned.

“Do you have bread to go with it?”

“We do!”

“Then we'll start with five dinners with bread.”

“Yes, sir. And to drink? We have water, ale, wine, and the hard stuff.”

I don't know all of those words, Tom mused. “Hold on a beat. Guys?” The elves were already looking at him attentively. “Drink? Water, ale…thing three…ah… raisins?” Orvan nodded. Tom gestured as if inflating a raisin. “Grape? Grape water?”

“Wine,” Orvan supplied.

“Wine. Wine. Water, ale, wine? You say you want.” Tom was stretching his leadership a little bit, but the last thing he wanted on their first night in town was to find out the hard way how elves reacted to hard liquor.

The men ordered ale and the women both ordered wine. Debbie smiled and did a little twirl as she darted off to fill their order. Too young for my tastes, Tom thought idly with a small frown. He turned to the others and caught Diavla smiling at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Nevahmine,” the elf told him.

I really should correct her pronunciation, but it's just too cute.

People started wandering by and asking questions. The first was a scrawny man with a ragged brown beard. “Are those elves?” Tom nodded. “You have four slaves?” He nodded again. “How?”

“I won them as loot killing some bandits.” He was going with a simplified story to avoid telling too much.

“How did bandits have slaves?”

Tom shrugged. “I guess they killed some slavers.”

“How much are they worth?”

“About ten or twenty gold each, I think.”

“You going to sell them?”

Tom shook his head. “No way. I rent them out for day labor.”

“You could rent those two out as night labor,” the man observed, staring at Diavla and Varga.

“I could, but I won't. I'm keeping them all to myself.” Tom reached out and took Diavla's hand possessively, gloating a bit at the man.

“That's a lot of gold you're giving up, but I can see why you'd do that. You staying in town?”

“Haven't decided yet. We'll be here for a few days at least.”

“Nice. See you around.”

“Yeah, take care.”

The man wandered off and Tom felt his smile go stiff. He took his hand off of Diavla's. “Thank you.”

Diavla leaned towards him. “Tom, I know you (something).” She saw that he had missed the last word and her eyes went vacant a moment as she considered her vocabulary. “Lie, say story. Fun.” She struck a couple of exaggerated, dramatic poses, which Varga got in on, hamming it up. Tom snorted at their antics.

“Act. Act is act. Yes, I act, I lie. I stop bad people.”

“I trust you, Tom.” Then Diavla got a scheming look on her face. “I act too.” She took hold of his arm firmly and pressed her body against his.

“Diavla, no flirt.”

“I no flirt. I act. I act (something) good slave, I want big Master happy.” Her impish grin was both delightful and maddening as she ran her fingers along his arm.

“Diavla…” She looked at him with an overly innocent, questioning expression. Now I know why they call it elf-stroke when a man just falls down dead for no reason. Woman, you will be the death of me. “We get food. No touch. Eat. I talk to people.”

Serious now, Diavla waved her hand to encompass the whole room. “People? Men and women is people?”

Tom extricated his arm from her grasp. “Yes.”

“People is people.”

“People. Thank you.” So, I can distract her with learning, he mused. Good to know.

Tom watched the room, trying to identify people of interest. I should put the word out. Another man walked up and asked much the same questions about the elves as the first.

Then another came over, carrying a mug. “Hey, how much for the redhead?”

“She's not for sale.”

“I'm not looking to buy her, pal. How much for the night?”

Tom knew the question was coming, but it still galled him. “She's not available.”

The man frowned. “Got her all booked up already?”

Tom felt his blood pulse in his neck. “Something like that.”

“What about the dark-haired one?”

“Same.”

“Demons. They going to be around?”

Tom was reluctant to answer, but couldn't think of a reasonable excuse not to. “We'll be in town a couple of days, at least.”

“Maybe I'll check back, then. Thanks, man.”

Tom took a deep breath, then felt Diavla squeeze his arm. He looked down at her. She was watching him with a serious expression. “Thank you, Tom. You do good.” He nodded to her, not trusting himself to speak for a couple of moments.

Debbie the barmaid returned with their drinks and handed them out, leaning forward a bit as she pushed his ale across. Tom kept his eyes on his drink, then her face. “Thanks, Debbie.”

Tom kept a lookout, watching the room and checking on the elves. He noticed Varga was staring at something, and when he followed her gaze, spotted the bartender. He blinked, looked at Varga, then at the human woman again.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The bartender was tall and had long red hair. Her sleeveless top showed off muscular arms like Varga's. She was a lot bustier than the elf, but Varga was prettier in Tom's opinion. He wondered what Varga thought of the woman. Then he remembered one of his plans.

“Oh. I need to go talk to the bartender. Um…I go talk, I go here soon.”

“I go, too!” Varga declared.

“I go, too,” Diavla echoed, looking up at him worriedly. Tom took in her expression, then nodded. I can see why they don't want to be more than a few steps away from me at all times in a place like this. Probably better for avoiding trouble, too. Tom stood and held out his hand. Diavla looked at it, then up at him, gave a tiny shake no, and jerked her head a bit to signal that he should go first.

Right. A master would walk ahead of his slaves. Tom took a deep breath and headed for the bar slowly, giving the women time to follow him closely. He found an open stretch where they could all lean on the bar and waited. It was a minute before the bartender finished serving some customers and turned to him.

“What'll it be?”

“Information. I'd like to hire you,” Tom told her.

The bartender looked back and forth between Diavla and Varga and frowned. “For what?” she asked warily.

“I've got some alcohol for sale, and I don't know how much to charge. I'd like you to price it for me, if you're willing.”

“How much?”

“A wagonload. I'll give you one silver per gold of the sales,” Tom offered.

“Three silver.”

“Two.”

“Done.” The woman looked him up and down. “I'm working tonight. When do you need to do this?”

“Tomorrow morning suits me.”

“I work at a bar; I'm not a morning person. One hour before noon is the earliest I'll do it.”

Tom nodded. “That's fine. Do I bring it here?” The woman nodded. “I'll be by in the morning then.”

“What's your name?”

“Tom Walker.”

“Miranda Barr.” She looked at the three of them again. “And who are they?”

“Ah.” Tom was annoyed at himself for forgetting his manners. “Miranda Barr, this is Diavla Urula and Varga…” He looked at Varga and realized he didn't know her family name.

“Varga Morovel,” Varga supplied with a smile. She held out her hand. Miranda clasped her forearm and Varga imitated her. It looked as if they were having a bit of a strength contest for a moment, sizing each other up. Both of them were smiling a little, though, so Tom didn't worry about it.

“What's your story?” Miranda asked the elf.

Varga looked at Tom. “Tom, you tell story, please?”

“Yes. I do.” Tom caught Miranda's raised eyebrows when he spoke Elvish and grinned. “I'm just learning Elvish. I lucked into four elven slaves recently, and we're here in the city to get them clothes and things…and also to sell the alcohol.”

“How do you ‘luck into’ four slaves?”

Tom weighed what to say, and sobered. “My friends were killed, and I killed the murderers. The bandits had these slaves, so they're legally mine now.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Miranda's expression was a bit stiff.

“Well, I'm going to sell the alcohol and spend some of the gold to take care of them. We're working out the rest as we go.”

“How'd you learn some Elvish?”

Tom took a deep breath and puffed air out his cheeks, allowing himself to sound tired. “It's been a busy week.”

“Tom learn Elvish, we learn Western,” Diavla spoke up.

“Huh.” Miranda regarded them a moment. “Is Tom good to you?” she asked Diavla.

She's blunt, Tom thought.

“Tom is very good man,” Diavla assured her. “We are very happy Tom get us.”

“Uh-huh.” Miranda still sounded a bit cold.

Tom looked back and forth between them. “How about I go back to our table so you can talk with them privately?”

At that Miranda's expression seemed to thaw a bit. “I'd like that, thank you.”

Tom nodded and withdrew after a exchanging a look and a nod with Diavla. Varga started to follow him but Diavla spoke to her in rapid Elvish and Varga smiled, turning back to eye the bartender some more.

I'll give them a couple of minutes, Tom told himself.

When he got back to the table, Kervan was having a passable conversation with a woman who was asking questions. “Saa, here Tom Walker is.” He looked a bit relieved.

“Hello, can I help you?”

The woman looked up at him and blinked. “Uh…no. I'm fine. I was just curious.” She looked a bit intimidated by him, so Tom sat down.

“Nothing wrong with curiosity,” he told her.

“Thank you.” The woman retreated, and Tom looked a question at Kervan. The elf shrugged.

“She ask…you. She ask me say you. Ugh.” Kervan put a hand to his forehead, for once stumped by their limited vocabulary.

“She want my name?” Tom guessed.

“Yes!” Kervan looked relieved. “She want…” he lifted several fingers one at a time rapidly. “She want where you are from. She want…count you gold?”

“She wanted to know whether I am rich? ‘Rich’ is, I have big gold.”

“Saa. She ask. She ask where we go.”

“She asked ‘about’ me. She asked ‘all about’ me.” Tom made a sweeping gesture with his hand for ‘all.’

“She asked all about you.”

Tom nodded. “That's fine. It is good.”

Debbie returned with a platter bearing five bowls and a loaf of bread. “Here you are, five bowls of stew and bread. Say, where'd the ladies go?”

“They're talking to Miranda.” Tom pointed.

Debbie looked. “Huh. All right.” She turned back and her smile returned. “Enjoy your meal. Give me a wave when you want anything more.”

Right after she walked off, someone else approached. Going to be a busy night, Tom mused. The new fellow was short, with thinning hair and a nervous twitchiness about him. He gave Tom a big grin that was about half-fake. This might be the man I'm looking for.

“Good evening, young sir. My name is Edge. May I join you for a moment?”

“Absolutely.” Tom gestured at a space between him and Kervan, and Edge sat down. “Tom Walker. This is Orvan and this is Kervan.” Edge took a brief moment to size up each of the elves, then returned his attention to Tom.

“Welcome to Rivermarch, Tom!”

“Thank you!” Tom smiled at him. “It's good to be here.”

“Just arrived today?”

“Correct.”

“And you have two elves, I see.”

“Four, actually.”

“Four! Interesting! I'm sure there's a story there.”

“There is, but I have to keep quiet for another day or two before I go spreading all the details.”

Edge nodded. “I see, I see, you have wheels in motion. I am far from a man to upset your cart. Of course, if you need to put the word out to particular individuals, I might be able to help with that.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“Tell me, young Tom, is there anything you need while you get settled? Have you got a place to stay?”

“We do. All set there.”

“You need clothes for your boys, maybe?”

Tom nodded. “We're going shopping tomorrow.”

“Oh, I know all the shops around here. I'd be happy to tell you about them.” The man rubbed his throat a moment. Tom took the hint.

“Are you thirsty, Edge? What are you drinking?”

“Northern Ale.”

“Well, let me buy you one.”

“Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you, Tom.”

Within a minute, Debbie had dropped off the man's drink, and Edge took a sip, smacking his lips. “Ahh, that's better.” He beamed at Tom.

Tom smiled back. “You look like a guy who knows guys who can get things done. A guy who's up on all the latest news.”

“Oh, yeah, I know everybody in this city,” Edge bragged.

“I thought you might. I actually would love to ask you a few questions.”

“A man after my own heart, you know just what you want. Let me hear it.”

“Great. First things first. How are elves treated around here? A lot of hate? Accepted?”

Edge took a moment to think, which Tom was glad to see. Some guys would make up a line of manure on the spot without a care. This fellow might be very useful.

“Honestly, Tom, there are precious few elves in the whole city, so I guess we'll all find out together. My guess is that most people will be fine with 'em, but a few might be touchy because they lost a leg or a brother or what have you, fighting elves at some point. Or maybe their daddy did. You know how it is.”

Tom nodded. “That matches what we've seen so far. A little rudeness, but not big trouble.”

“Good to hear. What else you want to know?”

“I need to talk to someone who knows boats. River boats, ocean boats, someone who's been around.”

Edge got a distant look in his eyes for a moment. “I think I know just the guy. Captain Miles Weller. His boat's the Blue River Dream and I hear it's moored at North Birch Pier for a few days, so he's got some time. I bet if you buy him lunch, he'll be happy to tell you anything you want to know.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great! I'll probably see him at some point, so I can tell him to expect you if you like.”

“Good. Lunch tomorrow works for me. Thanks, Edge.”

Tom took a bite of his stew; it was some kind of fish chowder. A motion to the side caught Tom's attention, and he suddenly realized that both Kervan and Orvan had waited for him to take a bite before starting their own dinners. His eyes widened just a moment. Gods. I need to pay closer attention. I'll talk to them later about that.

He swallowed his food and looked over at Edge, who was smiling as he waited for the next question. He thought a moment, then said, “So, I'm pretty new at the owning slaves thing. Are there a lot of human slaves around the city?”

Edge frowned in thought. “Maybe a dozen or two?”

“Anything special I should know about?”

“I can ask around. Are you going be here again?”

Tom nodded. “For at least the next of couple of days. I take it you're a regular here?”

“Absolutely. I can find things out and tell you tomorrow evening if you like.”

“That's great. I always like to know about trouble before it arrives, you know?”

“You're a smart guy, Tom.”

“Thanks. You're clearly a sharp guy yourself.”

“Well, I try, Tom, I try.”

“So, about—” Tom broke off as he realized that Orvan and Kervan were having a discussion in rapid Elvish that was getting a bit heated. Abruptly, Orvan stood.

“Orvan?” Tom called. “What?”

Orvan responded with a torrent of Elvish that Tom couldn't catch a word of. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Kervan?”

The blond elf turned to him. “Orvan say food is very bad. Orvan want go to…food room? And talk.”

Uh-oh.