Whilaway hadn't had time to go into many more specifics and Clarke doubted it would have changed his mind about going on a possibly deadly mission. He'd sent an invitation along by courier a few days later along with what a rich person might consider a small bag of coins, enough to stock his entire ingredients list for a month.
You couldn't spell potions without options as Clarke's alchemy teacher used to tell him so stock and brew he did.
The details he'd sent had only included a small card that gave him a time and place to meet with the leader of the expedition for a fuller briefing.
K.O. Coffee.
In a city of maybe 50,000 people with who knew how many restaurants, bars, inns, parks, theaters and general out of door areas, it was remarkable that the one place he was asked to go, a place he had never set foot in before, was the one place he didn't want to be.
Maybe the god of storytelling was getting back at him for his crack about how things did and did not work.
So he stood in front of Hum's glass shop and watched the KO Coffee, rotating his pen between his knuckles over and over like a little baton, waiting to ambush his contact outside the cafe without knowing what they looked like.
“No loitering.”
A broom pushed at his feet, the handle rising up a couple feet to the shriveled old Hum.
“Isn't sweeping your apprentice's job?”
“I saw this really big pile of junk cluttering up the outside of my shop and figured I had to get it. It's been there for about a half an hour or so, just sorta being tall and it was mean to my precious little marble. Wearin' a jacket-”
“Yes, I get it, it's me.”
She swept at his feet a few times, the bristles digging into his calves.
“I didn't say anything wrong.”
“No, you didn't. You just said it all factual and blunt like you say things. But you wouldn't be standing out here watching the shop if you weren't embarrassed about apologizing and thinking you did something wrong.”
Clarke cleared his throat.
“Well, I actually have a meeting in there, I wasn't waiting to apo-”
She walloped him with the broom, chasing him across the street as a flurry of bristly pokes drove him through the crowd and finally through the door. Mid day patrons on lunch looked him up and down and turned back to their coffee and sandwiches. Hum slammed the door behind him.
The place was very ordinary looking, chairs and tables and the midday lunch rush filling them. The counter blocked access to the backroom and kitchen and half hid the most interesting thing. A large machine, much like a boiler, a large curl of wire coming off the top to lead into a basket sized clear glass tank. Inside boiled a dark brown liquid that awakened his alchemical curiosity but that would have to be a mystery solved later.
He slunk to the furthest corner and reached back, pulling the tucked hood of of his jacket over his head. He'd originally intended its design to facilitate his alchemical safety by making a mask to keep out gases but he'd never been able to find a magic device that continuously produced fresh air, if one existed, so it had become merely a good way to avoid people.
He kept his eyes on the door, waiting for someone to come in and look like they were in search of someone.
“A disguise doesn't work if I already know what the disguise looks like. You need a new jacket.”
He turned slightly to the left and caught sight of Gwen's muscular ham fist, the rest hidden by his hood.
“You've never seen the hood. I can't be the only cloak clad figure with a belt full of potions to come and wait in the corner for adventure.”
She actually laughed.
“You actually would be the first! You know that's traditionally inns and bars, not coffee shops.”
A moment of quiet lapsed and Clarke pushed the hood back so he had to look at her.
“Well, in that case let's try some. Your pick.”
“You got it.”
She popped off behind the counter. Clarke sat back, relieved that this was far, far less uncomfortable than he had feared it would be.
Then his heart sank with one swing of the door.
The man that came in was a mountain, broad and red haired like some sort of ginger bear. Mutton chops fell down the side of his face like wild brush and his nose had a crooked look like it had been broken and reset one too many times.
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He looked over the shop, flicking from person to person with a little smirk that was definitely checking off each person he could beat up if he wanted to. Clarke turned to face the wall but it was too late. He was already coming over.
“That you, ratlet?”
Clarke's eye twitched, neck tensed. His hands came together so hard his nails were digging into his hands.
“I knew it was you when you came in, Wade. Bathing isn't against the law you know.”
He glowered but raised an arm for a big sniff. Rank was a good word for the smell that came to nostril. Clarke turned his head away to escape the odor that came his way.
“Pardon me for doing a real man's work in the hot sun. What're you doing? Still pawing through trash like your daddy, ratlet?”
He leaned over Clarke, his body darkening the corner. Clarke was already reaching for his belt when Gwen intervened, kicking Wade in the heel.
“Stop bothering paying customers, hefty, or you're out on your ass.”
She set a ceramic cup before Clarke, steam rising off the top that made him flinch back. He was sure it had curled his nose hairs as strong as it was.
“It's hot. If you've never tried coffee, try it black then decide if you want to add milk or sugar or a few other things.”
Wade sat, interrupting her before she was finished.
“Beer for me.”
“We don't serve beer.”
“Ale?”
“No ale either.”
“Then a Minecart Special!”
“We have those but it's a big sandwich, not a drink.”
Wade pounded his hands on the table.
“What kind of dwarf bar is this?”
Gwen fixed a glare on him like to have killed him had it had any magical power to do so.
“This is a cafe. Coffee. Food. No beards, war hammers or mining.”
He looked around, suspiciously eyeing the corners of the room as though something were very out of place in the world.
“That's not...everyone knows dwarves are...”
He made a confusing pantomime that was either using a pickaxe or fishing. It didn't make any sense to either of them.
“Right?”
Gwen looked at Clarke for some sort of explanation but he just shrugged. She growled, jabbing her finger in Wade's face.
“Listen here, stretch-”
He slapped her finger away and she might have belted him right then and there if Clarke hadn't tapped her on the shoulder and shook his head. She stomped off.
“Hey, I might have tried the stupid sandwich!”
He shrugged.
“Dwarves, right? What a temper. I'm not here to see this dump anyway. I'm supposed to be meeting a scribbler and Mr. Weatherworn asked me to give him the rundown on what to expect.”
His smirk spoke volumes about just how important he thought being a messenger was. Even if he was the leader of the expedition letting people know what they were doing was nothing short of common sense. Wade spared a quick glance around the room again for the scribe he was expecting but, seeing no one he felt fit the bill, continued.
“Do you know who that is? Maybe you've seen his logos around town while digging through the trash. He's this powerful merchant pointy ears that used to be an adventurer. Doesn't go out much any more as old as he is but he sends out groups to do his exploring for him. He chose me personally.”
Clarke occasionally came across Wade's 'adventures' in archives at work. The only thing anyone hired him for was as a meat shield. He may have been the most average mace fighter around but he could take a blow better than anyone.
“His taste is pretty inconsistent then.”
Clarke took up the cup and sipped. His face soured and he almost sprayed it over the table when the taste flooded his tongue with pure bitter hatred of his tastebuds. His face quaked and eyes shut tight but he gulped it down, mouth still filled with the revenge of unborn coffee plants.
“He hired me personally too.”
Clarke quietly enjoyed watching Wade's face contort from surprise to anger to a vague pout like someone had taken his favorite toy. When he spoke he practically spat.
“Well fine. That's fine. You better understand I'm in charge though, you got that? I'm not gonna have my chance at fame and fortune messed up just because you can't keep your rat loving paws to yourself.”
A sandwich intervened between them, a fat thing filled with crisp lettuce at one and gradually darkening meats at the other as though descending into the earth.
“Here's your Minecart Special-”
“Yeah, I'll keep my 'paws' in my book because I'm a professional. Unlike some people at this table who...what did I hear...? Someone here failed to get into the Noble's Knights or the special Executive Guard Squad some dozen or so times because they can't act like an adult? Sad isn't it? Home town hero turns home town zero because he can't keep his ego or temper in check.”
A crack broke along the edge of the table, splinters of wood breaking off in Wade's calluses.
“You shut your mouth, rat. No wonder your family abandoned you in Greater Rens. Who'd want a black hearted trash eater like you around?”
Both stared across the table at one another, anger bubbling just under the surface ready to burst out in searing hot violence. Gwen clapped her hands between them.
“Hey! None of that. Adventuring is fun and you're both ruining it for yourselves with all this.”
Their eyes broke from one another but the storm of tension hung over both. Wade jerked some papers from his pocket and tossed them across the table.
“That's everything I know. We're leaving in a couple days. Be at the Blue Fork's road out of town in the morning. I gotta go find a new guy now, one of our other guys got really sick and I don't wanna watch him scratching his burning crotch the whole time.”
Gwen's eyes lit up, sparks of joy racing through them.
“Me! I'm an adventurer! Take me!”
“NO!”
Clarke shouted, his chair falling over as fast as he jumped up. Gwen talked over him, other patrons watching.
“Ask Mr. Weatherworn! He saw what I can do, I guarantee he'll think it's a great idea!”
Clarke tripped on the legs of the chair, waving Wade out the door.
“No! Get someone else, anyone else!”
Gwen shoved the sandwich into his hands, leading Wade to the exit with Clarke to the other side just yelling no as much as he could get out.
“Ask Mr. Weatherworn, I swear by everything he'd love the idea! He saw me knock out a bull with a punch!”
Wade looked down at Clarke, saw the panic and smiled.
“Yeah, okay. I'll ask. Thanks for the sandwich.”
He was out the door.
Her smile faded with him out of sight and she whirled on Clarke, shaking him vigorously.
“What was that!? 'Someone else? Anyone else?' Why do you hate my dreams?”
His head bobbled, skull ready to pop off and roll across the floor just before she stopped.
He pulled a few copper coins out of his pouch and pried himself free of her.
“I have paper and potions to prepare. Thanks for the coffee.”
The door closed behind him.
She sighed and shook the change in her hand. All copper coins.
“Huh. He stiffed me.”