The first ale of the evening was always the best, its dry aroma inviting the tongue to a slow, relaxing decline into indifference. Garrett took a big swig from his tankard in the Copper Sail. Now was the time to get the stress of the day off his shoulders. Leading the city guard astray to divert attention away from the girl might be easy for someone as skilled in investigations and evidence gathering as Garrett, but it was exhausting nonetheless.
He was looking forward to getting company by Philander – his newfound contact and friends – but that would take a while, during which he sat in a free booth further towards the back of the tavern. Very soon, a tall figure sat down opposite of Garrett, muscular but not as wide as Garrett himself. It was not who Garrett was waiting for, but he recognized the voice before he could even get a good glimpse of the face; Red Spike of Kalonitz.
“So here you are. It’s perverse how you still prefer the sediment of society over the much higher circles you could afford.” Spike shot a disgusted glance around the patrons of the Copper Sail. “I had always thought you wanted to move out of the gutter.”
Garrett put the tankard down, careful not to let his tension shine through. “Do you want me to take you to a fine high-class inn for some five-year-old wine and a delicate cut of loin?”
Spike put his hands flat on the table and leaned over to Garrett. His clean-shaven head shone like a freshly waxed pair of boots in the dim light if the tavern’s few vials. “What I want is to see you with my own eyes, not through whispers and rumours from one ear to the next. Is it too much to ask from an old friend?” Spike grinned wide.
“If you are here to gloat, go ahead and be done with it, I am expecting proper company that knows how to behave.”
Disgust and spite formed his long, pointy face into a grimace. “Gloat? About you? Paw, you still haven’t realized just what a shame you are to me? To all of us? Damn I admired you at the beginning. Your fast strides, you amazing bounds, your successes in the lessons where Teacher made me suffer so much before, you seemed to just march through it all like they were rose petals on a red carpet. Even when you surpassed me, even when you picked up that disgusting vice of yours, I looked over it-“
Garrett slammed his tankard on the table so hard the ale spilled all over it. “I think you forgot how to behave at the table. Leave before I teach you some manners, Red Spike of Kalonitz.”
The man stood up and glared down at Garrett. “You forgot how to live your life. You were supposed to be the best of us, Paw! You mastered the purple before you even got your call sign, for Flame’s sake! And look at you now: taking on cheap contracts for the city guard when you could slay sorcerers and warlocks by the score, buy your own mercenary band! You even passed on the Dranton contract, instead staying with that apprentice of yours in the forest. I thought: Fine then, maybe he has his reasons, he finally got his first apprentice after all. But then, I heard the rumours. A blood pact, banishment from Sturreland, branded a Sinner! And still you struggled and squirmed like a worm to hide her brand from plain sight, when every good Hidden Hand would have just ended her and started over. What was it that kept you from fulfilling that duty?”
Garrett stood up and swung the tankard at Spike, but he merely swayed back, out of the way. Ale, the better of the house, spilled all over the floor. “LEAVE!”
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“It was that other bundle of disappointments, right? That waif of a witch to which you run to whine and wail at her shoulder? At least have some decency and plant your seed in her so that maybe something other than disappointment and wasted potential will come from all your gifts! For once do your duties to society!”
“Just leave, Spike! Leave me be and go back to your life of self-pity. At least I chose mediocrity, am happy with it, you’re damned to live it, trying forever to pass yourself off as something better than you are in the hopes an idiot will pay more for your word than your work is worth!” Garrett was about to teach him a lesson, he could, but Spike stepped out of the booth.
“I came to verify that you are still the same disgusting disappointment you were before, hoping that maybe the rumours weren’t true, but I was wrong to have any faith in you. I might not be above the tribunals, but the moment your mangy little mistake steps out of line, I will gladly take up the contract to end her before you can. Hold her tight.” Spike turned around and left.
Garrett had long noticed the other patrons were staring. But none of them seemed any wiser to what had actually happened. He sat back down and drank what was left of his ale. Anger remained in the back of his throat. Spike had always been a dick, but to simply walk in here and throw these things at Garrett was too much. Maybe he should teach him a lesson. Nobody threatened the girl like that and got away with it, except for himself, of course.
The evening went on and the ale managed to wash away most of Garrett’s anger, but only most of it. His friend Philander finally came with two fresh ales, his duties for the night were now finished. He symbolically wiped the sweat off his high forehead – beneath that dark ochre mane, wild and in dire need of cutting – to herald the beginning of his after-work hours.
“Who was that guy that sat with you?”
“Spike, one of my seniors from the past.”
Philander reached Garret one of the tankards and they clinked. “Oh, so he too is one of those, whatchacallem?”
“Yes, but the only people who need to fear him are common thugs and robbers, maybe an especially clumsy cat.” Garrett chuckled as he took another sip. They joined their laughter for the rest of the evening. At one point, when thinking about the girl and her troubles, Garrett remembered to bring something up.
“I meant to ask you, Philander, I need some help getting some unusual wares.” He took out the girl’s list and checked it. Most of the things were no special trouble to get, like the raw silver, the thick linen cloth, the spun gold thread, the yew spars, but there were some still not taken care off. “I’ll need snakes, live snakes, ideally venomous ones; an entire basket full. Some equipment for an alchemy laboratory, used one would be fine. At least an entire ounce of refined dream powder. An undisturbed place that can house a workshop. All of this without any official suspicion, of course.”
Philander’s face showed concern. “Well, I can find someone who can get them for you, but... What do you need them for?”
“It’s difficult. It’s about my apprentice. They’re not used for my job. At least not directly.”
“Well, I’m not one to question you, Garrett.” Philander scratched his head. “I’ll set something up for you. Anything else you need?”
Garrett went over the list again. “No. Only drink from now on, put it here.” He raised his tankard once more.
Philander. “Yes, let’s enjoy this night!” and they clinked another time. A coy smile shot across Philander’s face – almost boyish were it not for that stubble – likely too fast for anyone else to notice, but it made Garrett worry nonetheless. He wouldn’t want anyone to know, not if someone like Spike still bore him a grudge. Garrett wouldn’t let anyone take this from him, not this time. He’d kill to keep those dear to him safe, and Spike would be an easy kill.