The door to The Thunder Room opened and Tavin stepped inside, taking in the tavern at a glance. A few patrons glanced back, before returning to their drinks and conversations. A cat slept on an empty table.

On first impression, he liked the place; just seedy enough to do some business, but not so bad you could only come and go with a half-dozen game lads to watch your back. It was clean enough without being stuck-up, and the steady rumble of the water plunging down the wall outside made conversations difficult to overhear, in addition to giving the tavern its name.

It was a good place to tie one on, provided you didn’t go too far and make easy pickings of yourself at closing time. The best precaution against that was to be in the crew that ran the neighborhood, but Tavin wasn’t interested in changing employers at the moment, so he decided to go with the second-best.

“Evenin’, Rhos,” he grinned at the barkeeper as he sat down on a stool, “what’s the goin’ rate for a room for the night?” There was no way anyone with a knighthood was tending bar, but the ironic honorific passed for a friendly greeting in less reputable circles.

The barman was a heavyset man with a shaved head and a bushy mustache. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, and he had the thick forearms of a sailor, with tattoos to match. He glanced up at Tavin from the glass he was wiping clean and gave him an appraising look.

“Two bits a night to sleep in a shared room, no meals. We might have to double up in the beds if it gets crowded tonight, and there’s no discount offered in that case, but we'll give you a bowl of porridge in the morning.” He set the glass on a shelf and pulled another out of a bucket of water. “In the unlikely event that you’re caught with another guest’s belongings in your possession,” he gave Tavin a pointed glare, “you’ll get a beating you won’t soon forget, and we’ll throw you out.”

Tavin considered trying to bullshit the man, but concluded that it would get him nowhere. “I know I look a little rough, Cap’n, but I’m gainfully employed and not looking for any trouble. How much for a single room and a bath, with supper tonight an’ breakfast in the morning?”

The barkeeper raised an eyebrow and Tavin knew he’d believe him when the coins were in his hand, and not before.

“Two plum,” he answered, “another three bits if you want your laundry done.”

“Two then, an’ I’ll do my washing myself,” Tavin told him. He’d splurged for the bath, but he wasn’t that gainfully employed, and he still had information to buy. He put three plum on the bar. “Could ya’ pour me a Bottle Blonde, an’ maybe tell me who I should talk to if some relations an’ I was lookin’ to do a bit of travelin’?”

The barkeeper nodded and walked over to a cabinet door set into the wall. He pulled it open, and the noise of the water rushing past intensified as he reached inside and removed a green bottle with a cork in it. The water’s sound returned to its previous volume as the door closed, and Tavin’s host put the dripping wet bottle on the bar in front of him.

“Two bits the bottle,” he said, reaching for a clean glass.

“Two glasses, if you’re keen,” Tavin told him. He reached out and picked up the bottle curiously. “Why, it’s cold!” he exclaimed.

The barkeeper nodded as he uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass. “Spray from the falls keeps them cool,” he remarked, taking a sip of the cloudy, golden ale.

Tavin raised his glass to his lips and tipped it back, savoring the familiar taste of his old favorite.

“What sort of traveling did you have in mind? There’s barges heading up and downstream from here, and I heard an overland caravan was leaving in a couple of days.”

“Discreet-like,” said Tavin, “without overmuch hassle, for the sort that value their privacy. My cousin likes the peace and quiet, when he can get it.”

“To the southeast?” the barkeeper asked, swirling the ale around in his glass.

“Definitely not,” the rogue told him. “He’s got no friends in that direction.”

The barkeeper nodded and took another drink. “Nicer places to visit in other directions,” he opined.

“The people are friendlier, too,” Tavin agreed. It was difficult not to be friendlier than the smugglers who plied their trade among the mountains that separated Ostrogoth from Agathocles, or the soldiers who hunted them through the high valleys and passes, where anyone who wasn’t with you was probably going to try and kill you.

“Name’s Tavin, by the way,” he introduced himself.

“Coll,” the barkeeper said, shaking the proffered hand.

“Glad to know ya.”

“Likewise,” Coll replied, “can I ask what brought you to our little establishment?”

“It was recommended to me by a reputable gentleman in Timberport,” Tavin told him, “as well as our uncle back in Stanhope.” The only reputable gentlemen in Timberport were passing through the place on their way to somewhere else. Tavin appreciated an organization that had a sense of humor about their code words.

“Oh, who’s your uncle?”

“Silvertip.”

Coll nodded at the alias for Ribaud’s outfit, then drained his glass. “Restio, we’ve got a cousin in town from upriver,” he called to a table occupied by a crew that would look at home in any prison you cared to name, “take him upstairs and introduce him to the lady of the house.” He turned to Tavin and began counting out his change, as a goblin with a toothpick in his lip wordlessly got up from the table and ambled over, thumb hooked on his belt.

“Keep it,” Tavin told the man, as he drained his glass, “though I’ll take the bottle with me.” He'd see what a little bribery got him.

“Just a moment then,” Coll replied as he reached under the bar. He pulled out a small, reddish ceramic jug and slid it over to Tavin, whose eyes widened at the stamp on it.

“Never had a taste for howl,” he told the barkeeper, who shook his head.

“It’s for her, mostly,” Coll told him, “lets her know you weren’t an asshole, and she’s usually more amenable after a shot or two.”

Tavin grinned and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “Pleasure,” he said taking both in hand, then followed Restio up the stairs.

“It’s a beautiful city ya got here,” Tavin said to Restio, “I’ve been ‘afore, but it makes my breath catch every time, just the same.”

“Hmmm,” the goblin muttered, turning down the hall at the top of the stairway.

“’S a fine place for a tavern too, that cooling trick with the spray’s right clever,” Tavin tried again.

“Mmmm,” the goblin replied as he walked down the hall at a leisurely pace.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“There a decent bladesmith about? I took a lad under m’wing lately, he had a lousy father, ya see, an’ I was hopin’ to find him a gift.”

“Hrmmmmm,” Restio informed him, as they started up a smaller staircase in the back. A pair of guards sitting on stools stared down at them from the landing, a closed door behind them. Restio didn’t change his pace at all, and climbed up the staircase to open the door. The guards didn’t stop him or Tavin, though the latter was given considerably more visual scrutiny.

They entered an office dominated by a large oak desk, with a pair of high-back chairs in front of it, and one behind. The back wall had large glass windows from end to end.

“What do we have here?”

Tavin turned and saw two people by a bookshelf behind the door. The first could have been Coll’s twin brother, they had the same features, same shaved head, and even the same mustache. The biggest differences were the glasses perched on this man’s nose, and how he seemed to be even more heavily muscled than the barkeeper. The sleeves of his jacket strained to contain his arms as he rose to his full height from where he’d been holding a book open for the second (and much shorter) person. She stood about waist-high, though most of her height came from her long, twig-thin legs. Her arms were much the same, and both sets of limbs were proportionally much longer than a human’s. She wore a tall, skinny top hat, with her orange hair spreading out from underneath it like the bristles of a broom.

Tavin took off his cap and inclined his head toward the brownie, who gave him a bucktoothed smile. “Big Etta, it’s an honor ta be received by ya,” he said to the head of the Trip an’ Fallers, who ran the underground economy in the city of Spillway. She turned her gaze to Restio.

“Some gossipy git from Ribaud’s crew up the river. Won’t shut up fer nothin’,” the goblin said, after he removed the toothpick from his mouth. Without further comment, he turned around and left the office, closing the door behind him.

“‘...'e says that, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise all the way up here,” Tavin told her after the door closed.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said, with a conspiratorial wink. “This is Lloyd, my bookkeeper.” He offered a hand and Tavin shook it, to his immediate regret. The man could probably dismember a bullock with his bare hands, his grip was so strong.

“Charmed,” Tavin squeaked out, cradling his tender hand against his chest when Lloyd released it.

“Likewise,” the bookkeeper told him. He took the spectacles off his nose and placed them in a breast pocket, then had a seat in one of the chairs before the desk.

“Do ya mind?” Tavin asked, pointing toward the window.

“Be my guest,” Big Etta said, “no better view in the city!” She took her seat behind the desk and began to load a pipe with smokeleaf.

Keeping an eye on Etta and Lloyd, it wasn’t a secret why the gang was named the 'Trip an’ Fallers', Tavin stepped up to the window and let out an appreciative whistle. To one side, mist rose from the water plunging over the spillway that gave the city its name. To the other, the ancient stonework of the Great Albi Dam arched across the canyon, nearly two thousand feet from top to bottom. The city stretched from one canyon wall to the other along the top of the structure, almost like the moss that grew on top of the bas reliefs carved into the buttresses that kept the massive structure of carved stone blocks in place.

The sculptures depicted scenes from The Subjugation, with the Dahji leading the armies of Ancient Stygia to victory over their barbarian enemies, and the Twin Emperors triumphant, basking in the glow of Scaeptrius's favor. Swallows nested among the carved figures, raising their young and dodging hungry kestrels, their lives playing out in front of the propaganda of an empire thousands of years dead. Tavin thought the sheer scale and grandeur of the thing made the city atop it look small and kind of shabby by comparison, even if Spillway was generally considered one of the nicer places to live in Ostrogoth.

“You can see all the way to the bottom of the Lockroad from that window,” Big Etta said, puffing on her pipe. Tavin squinted.

“With younger eyes than mine, mayhap,” he replied. The road built in the ancient lock channel came out a couple miles downstream, and teamsters did a brisk business hauling goods and people across it between Spillway and the lower wharf. He turned away from the window and took his seat, setting the two bottles on the desk.

“Lloyd, be a dear,” Etta told the bookkeeper, who stood up and retrieved three jig glasses, one smaller than the others. He uncorked the jug and filled each with a harsh, volatile spirit that set Tavin’s eyes watering from the other side of the desk.

“I never had a taste for howl,” he said, “but Coll said it was mostly for you.”

“Mostly,” Big Etta grinned at him, “but not entirely. If you want to talk business, you’ll have to raise a glass. House rules.”

Tavin shuddered, then steeled himself for what he knew was coming. He picked up the jig. “To your health,” he toasted, held his breath, and poured the slightly-greenish liquid down his throat. The other two followed his lead.

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he roared as the barbaric liquor seemed to set his gullet aflame. His reaction was fairly typical, and the source of the spirit’s name. Etta only scrunched her face up a bit, but Lloyd also yowled and stomped his feet.

“We can do business now?” Tavin croaked, his vocal chords scorched. Etta nodded, and Tavin ripped the cork out of the ale bottle, draining what was left in a single pull, hoping that diluting the howl would keep it from coming back up later. Etta just chuckled at him, but Lloyd gave him an an understanding look.I hope they killed whoever taught ogres how to distill spirits, Tavin thought to himself.

The negotiations were straightforward, and didn’t take more than a couple of minutes, after which Tavin went to his room to handle his bath and laundry. Finally, he put on the dry clothes he had with him and went down for supper at the bar, where he considered the situation.

The Fallers had people on the wharves, and among the teamsters, and they were the only ones to ask if you wanted to pass through town without being seen. Nobody matching the gnome’s description had come through Spillway, just as nobody had seen him in Timberport two days earlier when Tavin had asked around. The Fallers ran Timberport as well, but Tavin had crossed the lake anyway, hoping that paying respects to the boss might open doors that a few coins couldn’t. It was for naught, the little blighter had vanished somewhere on the canal. If he was still alive, he had to be hiding out in the swamplands, or taking the old forest road over the pass and out of the Upper Albi Basin.

Tavin would put his money on the latter, this gnome was supposed to be smart, he wouldn’t hide out in a swamp and just hope for the best, especially if he was in the company of a glory-hound like the Popinjay. The mercenary’s survival had seemed like a long shot at first, but as the days went by without a body showing up, Tavin had to conclude that the old sell-sword had pulled one over on them all. He thought back to that morning in the alley, when the pair had run past him and Rado, leading to them getting recruited into this whole mess when Breakspear had sat down with Ribaud to try and get on top of the situation.

Their solution to the problem, if you could call it that, was unique in Tavin’s experience; a covert alliance, buried in the local bureaucracy, comprised of concerned parties from both sides of the law and united against the self-centered ambitions of the ruling class, doing what it took to prevent the outbreak of another devastating war. A secret society that operated by leveraging its connections to attribute their actions to other groups, and by appearing to be something too boring to bother looking into further; The Assayers’ Commission for the General Welfare.

Tavin thought they’d all hang. He’d come along anyway; he wasn’t too old to be conscripted, and hanging beat typhoid, dysentery, starvation, and being lit on fire, as far as ways to die went. Marching toward that, so that some soft-handed prick could be a margrave instead of a count? He’d never been particularly concerned about breaking the law before, he didn’t see any reason to start now.

He finished mopping up the fish chowder in his bowl with a slice of crusty bread that had been baked that morning, then waved down Coll.

“I’ll take another Bottle Blonde, an’ a round for that table of whatever they’re havin’,” he said, pointing out the table where Restio was playing cards with a few other Fallers. They nodded in acknowledgment as he walked over with his bottle and sat down.

“A gossipy git, am I?” he said to Restio, “Well, I hope yer ready to lose your crotchety green ass at cards, an’ have everyone from here to Lo Dai hear about it!” Restio grinned at him as the other Fallers laughed, and they began to deal.

The door opened and another goblin walked in, his belongings in a sack slung over his shoulder. Restio looked surprised to see him, but the newcomer held up a finger to indicate he’d be there in a moment as he walked to the bar.

“Burdock!” exclaimed Coll, “It’s been a while, what brings you to town?”

“A career change,” the goblin told him, “Give me a jig of howl.” The barkeeper raised an eyebrow, but poured the drink.

“HAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOO!” he cried after he swallowed it, pounding his fist on the bar with his eyes squeezed shut. “Could I get an ale?” he rasped after his senses returned.

Coll had been ready with one, and Burdock chased the liquor with a long draught. He sighed and walked over to their table, mug in hand.

“Gents, you remember my brother,” Restio said. The other Fallers all nodded, and Tavin introduced himself. “Now what’s goin’ on?”

“You won’t believe this, I barely believe it myself,” Burdock told them, “there’s a draug in the swamplands!” The rest of the table burst into a flurry of questions, oaths, and admonishments, but Tavin just waved at Coll.

"Get my new friends here another round," he said, before turning to Burdock. "Now lad, why don't you tell the the whole story from the beginnin'?"