It didn’t take too long to find somewhere decent enough to hole up for a couple of hours and drown the miseries of the day. The mercenaries found a suitable pub a couple of streets back from the docks, close to a market square which was commonly regarded as the root of the Western trade road. Small boulevards of boutiques and workshops stretched from the riverside through a channel between the foothills, topped with their limestone palaces like whipped egg whites. The bustling alleys and streets came together as one on the outskirts of the city, where they became the largest and most well maintained road in the Kaden Circle, the Jandrir – Badanis Carriageway.

The pub was actually rather pleasant, whilst still being affordable. The sheer quantity of competing businesses in Jandrir had a passive effect on raising overall standards. Most towns, Gladstone included, had few enough drinking establishments that the prevailing attitude of the publican union, if such a thing existed, was, ‘We all know you’re gonna come in here an’ get pissed anyway, so quit your whining and mind you don’t trip over that dead rat on your way in, it’s still stewable.’ Jandrir took a very different approach to commerce. Restaurants, shops, stalls, they all looked like they were there for the consumer, not the owner. In fact, the owners went out of their way to attract customers. Sometimes, it even looked like businesses here took pride in what they did, unbelievably. Each tavern or inn the mercenaries had passed had something unique going for it, be it was a particular type of cuisine, some rare vintages, a desirable location or, curiously enough, some kind of novelty theme.

The particular pub they had settled on, narrowed down by a combination of general fatigue and Bling’s extremely enthusiastic insistence, was called ‘The Un-Gnome Quantity’. The façade of the building conjured images of a woodland cottage, apparently the favoured haunt of gnomes, and the interior had a charming cosiness to it. However, in Jandrir, just charming wasn’t going to cut it. The floor and ceilings were irregular throughout the two story building, creating small nooks in some areas and large chambers in others. The design was made to look organic, rather than manufactured, so that the ceilings and floors seemed to warp and bulge, as if the building had grown into its malformed shape. It was an amusingly quaint layout, but Gabriel suspected he might not appreciate the quirky architecture when drunk. Gabriel’s patience with the bizarre novelty pub evaporated much sooner than that, though; Gabriel decided that the owner’s attachment to his ‘fun’ premise had officially gone too far when the mercenary ordered a round of five beers and was presented with five tankards of completely random shape and size, all priced exactly the same. He attempted to complain, of course, but the bartender, a gnome, seemed to think his irritation all part of a merry jest, and went about serving other customers with a wink and a smile. Oddly enough, the other customers seemed to find the random element utterly delightful. Gabriel saw no small number of merchants and artisans sharing a laugh at being the butt of this joke, or playing cards and fulfilling dares to see which unlucky soul would get the smallest tankard. Under different circumstances it might have been an appealing distraction, but for now one of the mercenaries was going to have a difficult time drowning their sorrows with a literal thimbleful of ale.

Gabriel awkwardly approached the table the others had acquired, tucked away in a slightly claustrophobic cubby hole, “Right, so, there appears to have been a bit of a misunderstanding and, well, we’re going to have to have a quick discussion about-”

Lydia took the biggest tankard and started drinking.

Gabriel tapped a finger on the table, “As I was saying, I think it’s best if we-”

Bling and Vish both reached for the second biggest at the same time. Vish rescinded his claim to the beverage when Bling’s spare hand went for a knife. The mind-mapper took the third biggest, a hollowed-out horn, and gulped away.

Only the thimble and a small teacup’s worth of beer remained. Figo gave Gabriel an awkward look.

“For gods’ sake, go on then,” Gabriel tutted.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Figo grinned as he took the teacup and sipped gratefully.

“Looks like I’m going back to the bar, then.”

As Gabriel shuffled off, the others nursed or chugged their beers as appropriate. Lydia had to physically recline in order to drink from the enormous stein she had taken, just to prevent the cup from scraping against the ceiling.

“Something tells me Jandrir is going to get on my nerves,” the warrior prophesized as she carefully lowered her mug onto the too-short table.

“I rather like it,” Figo said with apologetic excitement, “I’ve often wondered what people would do if they didn’t have to do anything.”

Lydia frowned, “They still have to work, just like the rest of us. Just because there’s a shit ton of them doesn’t mean life’s easier,” she shrugged, “might even be harder.”

“Yes, but, the butcher’s son doesn’t need to be a butcher. The blacksmith’s boy doesn’t need to be a blacksmith. Do you see?” Figo explained.

“And the hunter’s son doesn’t need to be a hunter?”

Figo blushed, “It’s just nice to see what ideas people come up with when they have the freedom to make their own choices, that’s all.”

“You chose to be a mercenary,” Vish reminded him.

“And I don’t regret it. I was just,” he floundered, “I was just wondering.”

Vish swirled his drink, “I wonder what Rodney would have been if he’d had a choice.”

Figo gave the mind-mapper a warm smile, “I’m sure he still would have chosen to be one of us.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

The two men clinked their cups together and drank.

“We are still talking about a cricket, right?” Lydia checked.

Vish set down his cup very carefully, “Actually, it’s a bit more delicate than that. You see, Rodney, the real Rodney I mean, he was my brother.”

Lydia’s mouth actually hung open.

“I moved his soul into a cricket’s body to save him from a terminal disease. His body was dying, so I had to find a new one, and quickly. All I could find,” the mind-mapper sighed, “was a humble little cricket.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Lydia made to readjust her plate armour, and remembered she was no longer wearing it, “Oh, um, I see. That’s tough. I‘ve,” she cleared her throat, “I’ve lost brothers as well. Not blood brothers, mind, but battle brothers, you know? It’s sort of the same thing. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I just mean to say that I understand the bond and that,” she paused and looked from drink to Vish to drink again, “I’m sorry.”

“Hoooly shit,” Vish breathed in awe.

“That was really wonderful, Lydia,” Figo smiled.

“Did you see that?”

“I did,” the archer confirmed.

“That was beautiful.”

“It was rather touching.”

“Ah, man, Rodney would have loved that. Thanks Lydia, you’ve somehow managed to brighten even this dark day.

Lydia squinted, “What do you mean. Are you saying..?”

“Oh yeah, total bullshit. Made it all up. You might have noticed, but that’s kind of a thing I do. How do people not get that? Anyway, what a reaction!”

“I must say, it was heartwarming to see that side of you, Lydia. You shouldn’t be so shy about opening up to us,” Figo agreed.

Lydia somehow managed to crack the knuckles of her fist with one hand, and one gauntleted hand at that, “I’m going to dig up your little fucking cricket friend and nail his tiny corpse to your even smaller dick.”

That was when Gabriel got back, carrying an assortment of tiny cups and glasses, “What in the name of aether swilling shite was that Lydia?”

“He started it!”

“You can’t go around talking about the dead like that!”

“But that little bastard-” Lydia shouted, her face and neck red with frustration and rage.

“What? What’d I do?” Vish asked innocently.

“Son of a bitch, you know what you did.”

“Lydia, I don’t like your tone,” Gabriel scolded, “I think you may have taken this too far.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” she spat back.

“Oh dear,” Figo said forlornly.

They were interrupted by one of Bling’s loudest and heartiest cackles. The redhead was apparently thoroughly enjoying the exchange, and was thumping the table in front of her enthusiastically, as if it were all a big pantomime performed in her honour. When her laughter subsided, she took up her mug, still grinning, and said, “Rodney.”

Just like that, the tension broke.

One after another, they picked up their drinking utensils, in whatever shape or form they took, and held them aloft.

“To Rodney,” Gabriel said, smiling at his sister.

They all mumbled their agreement and drank to their fallen comrade.

They reminisced for a while, trading stories of Rodney’s antics, and then talk shifted inevitably to the future.

“At the risk of sounding insensitive, will you be on the lookout for another cricket?” Figo asked as politely as one can.

“Dude, we can’t talk about this yet! He’s still warm, for crying out loud. Or whatever temperature he was, anyway.”

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I was just wondering about our operation, and how things are going to go from now on.”

“We should get something bigger, like a bear,” Lydia said with a belch.

“I’m not sure you’re completely familiar with the role Rodney played in our little party,” Gabriel wagered.

Lydia waved a dismissive hand, “Spying, recon, I know. Seems to me there wouldn’t be much need for all that if we had a bear.”

“I’m not a circus ringleader, Lydia. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t get it,” Vish agreed.

“Would a cat work?” Figo suggested, “They keep a low profile and, well, I suspect it would be slightly less traumatic to be imprinted on a cat than a cricket.”

“A cat? Are you kidding me? I can now say from personal experience that it is easier to imprint a soul on a wyvern than on a cat. Cat’s are the most self-aware creatures in the known universe; no mind-mapper has successfully imprinted a soul on a cat, or imprinted a cat’s soul on anything else, for that matter. In fact, there’s a pretty strong school of thought that suggests they might not even have souls.”

“Another insect then,” Gabriel concluded, “Firefly season is coming up around here.”

“Firefly? I may as well imprint Figo-”

“Or whoever,” Figo mumbled.

“-onto a fricking floating bathtub. Not exactly the best creature for clandestine operations,” Vish said, “If I’m training something that flies I want it to move like a leaf on the wind,” he mimicked his impression of this, coupled with a few swooshing noises; it was apparently pretty strong beer.

They mulled over their options.

“Bird?”

“Natasha, no!”

Having not made much progress, and slightly profaned the memory of the dead, they moved on to more immediately pressing matters.

“Well, we’re in Jandrir now,” Gabriel pointed out, “I suppose we should move on with the job as soon as possible.”

“Is that code for, ‘we’ve run out of money, so we’re going to have to leave the bar’?” Lydia asked.

Gabriel pursed his lips and looked down at the six extortionately over-priced shot-glasses worth of beer in front of him, “There are a number of factors, really.”

“What’s the plan?” Figo asked, trying to sound serious, despite swaying a little.

“About that… I don’t actually know,” Gabriel checked in with his internal turmoil and found that he was just drunk enough to allow truth to bubble to the top, “Dexy’s dead,” he announced.

“Oh dear.”

“Muppet.”

“Card man…”

“Who?”

The four of them said in turn.

“He was killed by someone who was, and apparently still is, tailing us. He died the same night someone tried to hustle him for information,” Gabriel dropped.

They stared at Gabriel with less than sober eyes.

“Information on us.”

“Gods.”

“Shit.”

“Dexy!”

“Again, who?”

The four of them said in turn.

“Is this because of Vagalad’s missing crap?” Vish said.

“Does it have something to do with ‘The Order’?” Figo asked.

“I don’t know, and I don’t know. I mean, both seem likely, but it could be anyone we pissed off, really,” Gabriel shrugged.

“You guys do have a habit of getting on a person’s murderous side,” Lydia confirmed.

“The point is we’re very likely being tracked, and we need to decide whether or not to continue.”

“Nope,” Vish decided, “Absolutely not.”

“It might not be as simple as that. I suspect we’re in too deep already. If that’s the case, then running away from this might not be enough to save us.”

“I don’t know man, I can run pretty far, pretty fast.”

“Okay, well, that’s just a lie.”

“If I may,” Figo interrupted, “this might be an unpopular opinion, but I feel like we do owe it to Vagalad to at least try our best to finish the contract.”

Bling nodded four times more than necessary.

“I say, that’s a shite idea,” Vish said, jabbing a finger at Figo.

There was a brief pause.

Lydia was surprised to find they were looking at her.

“What?”

“Well, what do you think?” Gabriel asked.

She shrugged, “Not paid to think.”

“Well, we would like your opinion,” Gabriel said.

Lydia stared each of them down to make sure they weren’t taking the piss, then she shrugged again, “I don’t know or care what a Dexy is, but I do think it’s good to complete your contracts. Word gets around in this business. If you’re shown to be unreliable, could be hard to find half decent employment. As for the tail? I’ve also had my fair share of people trying to kill me; this is nothing new,” she drained the dregs of her ale, “If it were up to me, I’d say finish what we started.”

Gabriel nodded in acknowledgement, “So it’s agreed then, three to two. We complete the job.”

“Three to two?” Lydia double-checked.

“You didn’t really think Gabriel would vote for the dangerous option, did you?” Vish scoffed.

“Honestly, my head told me that continuing was the right thing to do, but my heart is still very against going along with things that might one day cause it to be ripped from my body.”

Lydia eyed the surrogate captain, “You’re an odd creature, Gabriel.”

“I won’t deny that. Anyway, now that we’ve decided what to do, there’s just the small matter of how to proceed.”

“Simple, we find the fence,” Lydia said.

“Is that simple though?”

“We just need to ask around in the right places.”

Gabriel choked on his laughter, “Oh, so we just go up to random people and ask them, ‘Excuse me, have you seen a Mr. Screamer about recently?’ Flawless plan, Lydia, flawless.”

A hush descended upon ‘The Un-Gnome Quantity’. All eyes had turned to their table. Even the wind seemed to have stopped to ogle in outrage.

“Um, Gabriel,” Figo said.

“Yeeeah, I know. Gods’ damnit.”

The gnome who had been manning, or gnoming, the bar strode towards them. A hairy-chested bouncer followed just behind, roughly the size of Lydia.

“Evening,” Gabriel greeted.

“You’re no longer welcome in this establishment. I’d thank you all to leave. Now,” the gnome said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Can we at least finish our drinks?” Gabriel said, holding up a saucer filled with beer.

“Hugo, show the gentleman out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were going to say.”