Breaded hunks of fish meat basted under red paper lanterns. Cyril didn’t wait to gobble one up, hardly pausing to chew. Bu was only a moment behind him.
“Why did I ever leave?” Cyril asked aloud.
“The money, of course!” Bu answered. “Or, no. You had a purpose. I remember.” They laughed. They were drunk. The old man had wanted to invite his former pupil out the night before. Cyril promised they’d go the next day. His stomach was still turning from the assimilation from yesterday. After they returned to Gwyllion Abbey, Cyril sent the kids home and he napped. Xin spent the next day berating him for everything Cyril had decided to do.
When the initiates didn’t show up the next day, Xin also told him that he was responsible for arranging meeting times and practice. Cyril’s ignorance had earned him even more scolding from the young man. Bu and he had spent much of the first few drinks complaining about the boss’ son.
Now, they had moved on to enjoying their bar’s food. In the summer, At night, every inn and restaurant competed for the attention of sailors eager to spend their newly earned coin. Seafarers were like wardens, workers who earned a great sum of their pay all at once. They had big periods where they were flush with coin, and then long nights of thrifting until the next payday. It made their spending very different from other professions. Ones that paid out regular and tidy sums at normal intervals.
The district between the docks and the city proper unfolded and illuminated at night. Steel towers showered the ground in warm candlelight like torchhouses for drunks instead of boats. Inns made use of the warm nights and moved tables and chairs outside. The paths between buildings became open dining spaces. Waiters and waitresses dashed about, accepting orders from anyone with money for drink and food and company.
Bards and orators placed themselves in whatever clearing they could find. They performed for the spare change someone thought they deserved and clashed with each other to be heard and seen. An gwyll tamer missing a leg made a bolt of lightning dance to the dazzlement of onlookers.
Bu and Cyril were seated near a young orator. She read news from across the continents off of oft-folded slips of paper. Her voice was loud, but she separated her stories with long breaks, making it easy to talk to others at your table. A few others around the night tables recognized Bu and regarded him with a tip of their cap or a raised flagon of drink. Cyril could not tell if he was more often prized for his prowess as a drinker or as a master warden. The old man was more proud of the former.
Not just traveling sailors, but even the young upper crust of Lyrique seemed to visit the night tables. People of all styles of dress and age seemed to enjoy the rowdy streets. The daily festivities turned the town into a rowdy circus. Wealthy traders bumped elbows with farmers who bumped elbows with wardens. Nobody could or wanted to resist the allure of hot food and cold drink. Even the stars above joined in abundance.
Cyril felt like he’d been home forever.
“When you gonna have a kid of your own?” Bu was still thinking about Xin, clearly.
“Let’s not talk about such a depressing thing as my love life on such a lovely night,” Cyril insisted. He tried not to think of Loucester or of some of the people he left behind there. He tried to drink more. Most of the time he was glad he never started a real family there.
“I guess the ones you’ve already got are gonna be keeping you busy enough,” Bu laughed.
“The new students? I don’t know why you signed me up for that, old man.”
“And who was it that came crawling to me for a job, aye?”
Bu was a cruel drunk. Cyril remembered the old man trying to fight everyone at Gwyllion Abbey when he’d had too much rum. At least he had mellowed out since then.
“I just wish you’d let me make us some real money. Money like we were making in the old days. I could do some real jobs! And you’ve got me babysitting.”
Bu cocked an eyebrow. “Only old men talk about the old days.”
The orator rescued Cyril from trying to come up with a clever reply.
“Earthquake hits Pominos! Down south, some eight thousand people are considered missing or dead. Rescue efforts continue even a week after disaster gripped the city of Pominos. The Silver Dragon Order considered the case a matter of priority investigation, drumming up suspicion that Taboo or another elite underground guild was behind the attack.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“SDO Archwarden Lemire had this to say on the matter. ‘What happened in Pominos is a tragedy. Right now, our intention is to help the wardens on the scene get to the truth. We can not rule out foul play from rogue terrorist factions.’”
The orator folded the story to be stocked in her leather satchel. Bu stole some more of the fish from the plate between them while Cyril listened. The younger man finished his drink instead.
“Let me take them on one job. If it’s a failure, then it doesn’t happen again.”
“Let’s not talk about something as depressing as work on such a lovely night,” Bu said. But, Cyril didn’t let up. His eyes pressed for an answer. Bu groaned. “These kids come from important families. You can’t risk their lives. Their parents are paying for a safe experience.”
The orator started up again.
“Terror in New Yebourne! Taboo agents incite anarchy in the streets of New Yebourne. The island state in the Central Continent enters into open conflict against the terrorist cell Taboo. Early reports suggest that high-ranking members of the mysterious faction commanded monsters to invade the city en masse.
Reports on the ground have confirmed the death of Guild Boss Pahrye Moussaint amongst the casualties. Evacuation orders have already rescued over five hundred civilians caught in the siege. Early predictions estimate many thousands more still await rescue as neighboring wardens travel to lend their aid.”
A ripple went through the nearby crowd. Mutterings against the blackhearts of Taboo. About the need for good help. About how awful it must be to be them.
Cyril responded to what the old man said. “Soon, safety might require more than money.”
Bu took his drink and his food both in hand and stood from the table. “Come on, son. Let’s sit by those dancing girls instead.” He didn’t actually wait for Cyril to respond, so he followed. The younger man noticed Bu’s resistance to argue. Could this many years passing have really sapped the fight out of the old man? It was a depressing notion.
On their short journey, Cyril reevaluated the crowd. Its changes. The first thing he noticed was how crowded the tables were. As a kid, the night tables were popular, but at least everybody had a place to sit. Through the haze of liquor, Cyril noticed many eyes studying him. A few neighboring tables had been pushed together. Around them sat a dozen or so wardens.
Cyril could sense that many of them were possessed. They seemed to know something about him too, or at least knew something they didn’t like. Contempt was clear on most of their faces, but the group said nothing. Between the group were plates of food and tall pitchers. While Cyril walked by, all of it went untouched. He urged Bu to pick a table further away from the strange group.
Only one among the party looked like he was enjoying his time. He smiled warmly at Cyril. A small ceramic glass was pinched between his fingers. The strange man’s dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail with an expensive looking clip amidst the strokes of gray. The stranger’s frame was concealed in rich olive robes. Cyril nodded his head towards the man and the gesture was reciprocated.
“Pay ‘em no mind,” Bu said, but he followed Cyril anyways. They eventually sat at a table next to a metal brazier. Smoke from its flame rose above the crowd. “Migtrolio Marine. A new guild. Mostly work with the ships coming in and out. Tried to buy the abbey as a matter of fact.”
Cyril glanced at the group occasionally, but they had returned their interest to one another.
“Poachers?” Cyril asked. It was a common, but frowned upon practice. A warden with a lot of money came to a new town and stole all of the wardens already working there by hiring them at a higher rate of payment for successful jobs. Once the old guild went out of business, the owner would start charging through the nose for jobs. Cyril had seen it happen a few times, but never in Lyrique.
“Honest lot, actually,” Bu said. “Offered an honest price.”
“Why didn’t you take it?” Cyril asked.
“Sell the abbey?” Bu looked as though Cyril proposed they start skinning cats and going about the day nude. He shook his head fiercely. “Some things don’t have a price. Or at least they shouldn’t.”
Cyril wondered if that was a jab at him. At leaving Lyrique and him for the SDO. Bu was a cruel drunk. He wondered, for the first time, if Bu really did resent him for leaving. If the jokes and the teasing alluded to a deeper misgiving. Cyril studied the old man as his teeth gnashed through the last of the fish they’d ordered. Why did the old man have him teaching spoiled brats?
Bu disappeared. Cyril blinked a few times before his absence really hit him. The old man was hissing at Cyril from under the table.
“Get down here!” Bu whispered. “Bring my drink!”
“Just when I thought I knew everything there was to you.”
“If you don’t get down here, I’m gonna wring your scrawny neck!”
Cyril spoke to him from above the table. “I’ll get down there if you get my initiates a real job.”
“I’m gonna-!” Bu muttered curses under his breath. But, he relented. “Fine!” Cyril grabbed both their drinks and ducked under the table with him. In the shadow of the table, the noise above was muffled. It was hot, too.
“You owe someone money, old man?”
Bu didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it either. “You better not cost me any clients,” Bu warned. Cyril laughed aloud, blowing their cover entirely. There were still some parallels between the old man and his son, for all the bad blood that ran between them.
A server from one of the ale houses ducked under the table to see them both hiding there. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else to drink?” she asked.
“And where have you been?” Bu whispered indignantly. “Get us another round!”