Arteus watched as Castrol and Millie disappeared into the mist, their figures swallowed by the early morning fog. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of his words echoing in the silence. The plan was simple, yet risky: Millie and Castrol were to infiltrate the nobility, to uncover the truth behind the whispers of collusion and deceit while Arteus stood guard over the city's children in the night time. It was a task that would require all their cunning and diplomacy, a dance of shadows and lies.
And while the path before them was treacherous, the fastest route to the heart of the city's corruption was to gather information. Arteus knew that every second they wasted meant another child's potential demise, but he also understood that rushing in without a plan could lead to disaster.
The tavern where Kathleen Bower had met with Tobias was the perfect place to start. A notorious den of whispers and secrets, it was the sort of place where the nobility went to unwind and let their guards down, to speak of things they wouldn't dare mention in public settings. Arteus figured that if they were to find any shred of information linking Tobias to the murders, it would be there.
"Eire's echo bar," Arteus said, pointing to the worn sign that swung lazily above the tavern's entrance. "That's where you'll start."
Castrol nodded, his gaze never leaving the building. It was a place that had seen better days, the wood of the sign peeling and the windows foggy with the breath of a thousand secrets. It was the type of place where the line between friend and foe was as thin as a knife's edge, where the stench of desperation was as potent as the ale.
"Be careful," Millie said, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to be swallowed by the fog. "You know how they can be."
Castrol nodded, his eyes never leaving the tavern. "I know," he said, his voice grim. "I'll be sure to put on my best snobbish noble act for them."
And so, the trio parted ways, each with their own mission to unravel the tangled web that had been spun around Sovereign. Millie, with her charm and wit, set out to visit the nobility she had dealt with during her time as the village chief of Barley. Her connections, though strained by the years of hardship and the new world's harsh realities, remained a potential asset. Meanwhile, Castrol, driven by his newfound sense of duty and the need to protect his people, ventured into the lion's den alone.
As for Arteus, he knew that his role was not one of subtlety or deceit. His path was clear: he would patrol the city's alleyways each night, his eyes peeled for the robed figures that had claimed so many young lives. With every step he took, he felt the weight of the city's fear, a tangible presence that clung to him like a second skin.
As Castrol approached the unassuming entrance to Eire's echo bar, he came face to face with the teacher from Barley. The burly figure of Wyatt, the very man who had challenged his leadership and questioned his intentions, blocked the doorway. The big man's arms were folded over his chest, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.
"You're a long way from home, Castrol," Wyatt growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the tavern.
Castrol raised an eyebrow, his hand resting casually on the door's handle. "And you?" he asked, his tone even, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Are you the bar's new doorman, Wyatt?"
Wyatt's expression didn't waver, but the muscles in his jaw tightened ever so slightly. He clicked his tongue, the sound echoing through the early morning silence like a gunshot. Then, without a word, he stepped aside, allowing Castrol to enter the tavern. The gesture was not one of welcome, but rather of begrudging acceptance—a silent message that said he could care less what the village chief thought of him.
The inside of Eire's Echo Bar was everything Castrol had expected and more. The rickety-old tavern, that had walls that likely reverberated with the laughter of a freer time, now stood as a dilapidated relic of the old world. The wooden floorboards groaned with every step, threatening to give way beneath his boots. The air was thick with the stench of stale beer and the sweat of desperate men, a stark contrast to the opulent halls of Sovereign's nobility. As he made his way through the dimly lit space, the flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows that danced across the faces of the few patrons who had gathered to escape the city's grim reality.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The walls were adorned with dusty tapestries that had long ago lost their vibrancy, their once-noble scenes now a faded testament to the grandeur that had once been. The bar itself was a scarred monolith of dark wood, its surface marred by countless battles waged with tankards and dagger hilts. Castrol couldn't help but wonder why Lady Kathleen Bower and Tobias Kingg would choose to hold their clandestine meetings in such a place. It was a question that gnawed at him like a persistent toothache, a mystery that demanded to be solved as much as confused him to his very core.
He made his way to a table in the corner, the shadows embracing him like an old friend. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of the patrons, looking for any sign of recognition or hostility. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with whispers and furtive glances, a stark reminder of the city's turmoil. The patrons were a motley crew of desperate souls, refugees from a world that had turned its back on them, seeking solace in the bottom of a cup.
As Castrol sat, his hand rested on the table top, the tavern erupted into a cacophony of cheers and whistles. The eyes of every patron snapped to the stairway that spiraled up to the second floor, where a man in ostentatious noble garb appeared, waving dramatically to the crowd below. The garish display was almost comical in its theatricality, a stark contrast to the somber mood that had gripped the city. The man's smile was as wide as the Mississippi, his teeth gleaming like polished silver in the candlelight. By his side, a woman with hair as golden as a summer wheat field descended the stairs, her arm looped through his. She was a vision of beauty that seemed out of place in the dingy tavern, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she took in the ragged assembly before her.
The man's strides were confident, his boots echoing with each step as he descended to the main floor. His belt, studded with glistening gems, tightened around his waist with each movement, the sound of his wealth and status as loud as the applause that filled the air. The blonde woman, though a step behind, was the one who truly commanded attention. Her eyes, as blue as a midnight sky, scanned the room with a predatory gaze that seemed to strip the men bare of their secrets and the women of their envy.
As they reached the bottom of the staircase, she leaned in, her full red lips brushing his cheek in a kiss that was both affectionate and possessive. The tavern fell silent, the air thick with the anticipation of what was to come. Castrol felt his stomach turn, his instincts screaming at him that this was not a couple to be trifled with. But then, the man threw his arms wide and bellowed, "Free drinks for all, on me!" The room erupted into a raucous cheer, the sound of overturned benches and stomping feet drowning out any objections or suspicions. The patrons surged forward, eager to claim their prize from the generous lord.
The barkeep, a grizzled old man with a nose that looked like it had been broken more times than he could count, slammed his hand on the bar with a grin that was as wide and fake as the lord's. "You heard the man!" he shouted, his voice a raspy bark. "Drinks on the house! Get 'em while they're flowing!"
The tavern's patrons didn't need a second invitation. They surged towards the bar like a ravenous mob, their eyes gleaming with greed and desperation. Castrol watched from his corner, his gaze never leaving the couple as they made their grand exit. The woman's kiss had been a practiced move, a silent declaration of ownership and dominance. The lord had tightened his belt with a smug smile, the gesture speaking louder than any words could. It was clear that he was a man who liked to flaunt his wealth, a peacock strutting through a cage of lost souls.
As the chaos grew, the woman with the golden hair slipped away from the lord's side. She moved with the grace of a cat, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something, or someone. Castrol watched her every move, his senses on high alert but also just out of sheer curiosity.
To his surprise, she approached the bar with purpose, her movements efficient and practiced. She picked up a tray of glasses, her slender fingers curling around the wooden handle with surprising strength. The gleaming vessels clinked together musically as she deftly balanced them on the tray, a sight that seemed incongruous with the delicate beauty of her form.
She, was a waitress in this unsavory den of debauchery. And she moved through the crowd with an ease that spoke of long hours of service in such an environment. Her golden locks fell over her shoulder in soft waves, framing a face that could have graced the canvases of the greatest artists of the old world. Yet here she was, navigating the tavern's murky waters with a grace that suggested she was more than just a pretty face.
As she approached Castrol's table, her eyes met his, and for a moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade into the background. "Welcome to Eire's," she said, her voice a melodious contrast to the cacophony. "Can I take your order?"
Castrol studied her, his mind racing with the pieces of the puzzle that were slowly falling into place. This was exactly the kind of person he had been hoping to find.
Bingo!
-To Be Continued-