Cyril breathed in the smell of greasy smoked meat, releasing streams of serotonin into his brain. Saliva began to flow freely in his mouth, and his stomach growled invitingly.

"That's a moot point, Dyck." He muttered, half listening to the bartender's words about greatness of people. "Such a fucking awesome smell..."

He took another breath and reached for a knife from a drawer in the table.

"I found Freya two years after the death of my parents." Dyck continued.

Cyril took out a knife and began to cut a thin, glossy piece of delicious meat. The heat from the oven melted the layer of fat, and a sticky drop fell from the edge of the table. Before Cyril could finish cutting off the piece, a drop of warm fat landed on his overgrown pubis.

"Do you have any clothes!?" Cyril shouted, wincing.

The stove warmed the small kitchen nicely, and Cyril was warm, but the greasy drop made him feel uncomfortable. After all, as a man, he should have dripped on women's pubic hair, not let the meat juice do it on him.

"Clothes?" Dyck laughed again. "It's an unfair world, partner!"

Fuck it. Cyril spat and cut a second slice.

The innkeeper behind the wall finished laughing and continued his story.

"Freya's family protected other races, Cyril, not mine." He said, shaking his head and burping again. "I have to pay the debt of those who killed my parents."

Cyril placed two thin slices on the hot pan, and the meat sizzled furiously.

"I don't blame my sister." Dyck muttered.

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His voice was too close, and Cyril turned. A huge bartender with a waxed beard and snot marks on his chest stood in the doorway, parting the rustling ribbons. He hiccupped and looked at Cyril with a lost look.

"You're both orphaned." Cyril said, looking at Dyck. "Life's indeed unfair bitch. Gonna eat?"

Dyсk came closer and looked at the open paper bundle, and then at the frying pan.

"My choice corned beef." He belched smugly, and nodded. "Delicious. I call Freya my sister 'cause we've been friends since childhood and we've been through grief. This makes us closer then siblings. Siblings in the Clean Heel clan or in the king's court betray and kill to gain power. Our bond is stronger."

Cyril barely managed to turn the meat over, when suddenly Dyck came up behind him and hugged him tightly.

"Our bond is strong, too, partner!" Dyck exclaimed, tickling him with his beard. "Hic!"

"Fuck off, you idiot!" Cyril nudged him, then spun around. "I'm not that guy, asshole!"

The huge Dyck backed away, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. His drunken gaze could barely focus on anything, and Dyck sank grotesquely onto a stool.

"Sorry, partner." Dyck mumbled and hiccupped. "I'm too drunk, let's eat."

"What happens if you don't return the money for the land?" Cyril asked, removing the pan.

"We'll lose the tavern and my choice corned beef." Dyck whined and sniffed.

Cyril did not answer, but took two plates of meat, two forks, two knives, and an empty cup and left the kitchen. He sat down on a high chair and poured himself some firewater to relieve the tension. He was a little shaky from his close contact with the huge bartender.

I definitely need to get dressed. He thought again. I don't need drunk men rubbing up against me.

Dyck came out from the kitchen and sat down opposite Cyril. The thick smell of roasting meat helped to cool off a little, and Dyck filled his cup.

Cyril cut off some of the meat and put it in his mouth. He didn't even begin to chew when the fat, steeped in salt and spices, filled his mouth, mixed with saliva, and Cyril was drowned in the bliss of the intoxicating taste.

He chewed hard, savoring the flavor, and swallowed. His stomach accepted the food gratefully, and Cyril took a sip from his cup. Firewater had such name for a reason. A momentary warmth seeped into every cell of Cyril's body, as if he had actually swallowed a burning flame.

His mind went blank for a moment, but returned to normal almost immediately.

"Freya said I would help you restore your families' honor." Cyril said as soon as he came to his senses. "What does that mean?"

Dyck nodded and stopped chewing.

"Freya believes that she can atone for her family's treachery if she enriches the country." Dyck said and looked Cyril over carefully. The food seemed to help him get sober. "Do you know what kind of gem you threw at me?"

"No idea." Cyril shrugged.

"It's a magic gem, terribly expensive." Dyck whispered. "The court magicians will eat me alive for it. We can't let the clan know about the well."

"Why?" Cyril asked, but was interrupted by a knock outside.

"Master." A familiar voice came from the street. "I have a meeting here tonight, can I come in?"

Cyril looked back at the entrance. The double doors held a heavy table and several chairs. The guest tried to push the doors, but nothing worked out.

"Fucking alchemist! I completely forgot." Cyril exclaimed, and jumped down from his chair. He ran to the entrance and started moving the table. "Damn! Why the hell did you build a barricade here?"

"We're closed." The bartender said, chewing melancholically.

"You could hang a sign!" Cyril snapped, and finally released the entrance. "Hi, herbalist. Do you have any clothes?"