The fair weather and lie-in had put everyone in a good mood as they finally approached Jandrir just after midday. They were joking and laughing, playing silly word games, and coming up with humorous anecdotes as they approached the city along the river.

Traders and merchants bustled around them as caravans that lined the roads were being loaded with goods. Sacks were draped over horses, who brayed, and kicked at the dirt. Stocky crewmen tugged at the lines of their rafts, while grooms led the horses which tugged the square boats along the river.

The City was a veritable hub of activity. The Eastern Gate that they approached was a marble and cast-iron portal to a world of shoulder to shoulder bustle and sweat, that muted the otherwise fanciful vast parade of colorful awnings and street signs that indicated a varied range of shops and bars, each sporting their own unique selling point for either exclusive merchandise or experiences. Marble was a rarity, given the abundance of Tindran limestone available in the local region, making the structure of the gate even more opulant in its nature. It definitely made a statement.

For Felicity, it was the first city she had ever seen, never having left the small farming town she was born and raised in. She stood mouth agape, taking in the sheer size of everything, and the quantity of people.

“I’ve never seen anything like this!” she exclaimed, bouncing up to the marble column of the gate and staring up its magnificent height. Her hand traced the blue veins of the material through its white surface and delicately followed them to the twisted ornate bars of the gate, which stood wide open.

“It’s like a big door” Troit said, which he hoped was answering her query. She thew him an amused smile and carried on taking in the details and bobbing onto tip toes to look over the sea of heads that the main street presented.

The gate itself was a lone structure. The city of Jandrir was growing, and fast. Its position as a key trading town saw influx after influx of would be rich and wise merchants coming to make a living for themselves. Those want of work knew to travel to the piers and docks for hard labor that paid well from generous traders. As a result, the once encompassing walls had been left crumpled after long-forgotten wars, and stood as landmarks within the city that now covered twice its size. Gates were gifted by high profile merchants and the ilk as a sign of status and bragging rights. This one stood at the cities edge proudly displaying a polished statue of a fat dignitary atop its arch and plaques adoring the generosity of his standing. As a defensive structure it was worthless, this Yerin indicated by pointedly walking around it rather than through, grumbling all the while about ‘arrogant displays of pointlessness’.

“Is it wise us going through the city?” Wiesse asked, he skulked up to Yerin to ask him directly, head hung low. He did not want to be recognized by anyone looking to make a quick penny on his bounty, plus he felt somewhat ridiculous still being clad in wine stained purple garments. His latter concern was immediately dismissed when a nearby merchant grabbed him by the lapel and began fondling the material.

“My word, what an exquisite jacket, fine sir!” he began, hand already rubbing two silver coins together, “I dare say such a fine, bold piece would be all the rage in the Southern Didcus regions. I simply must buy it from you, say two silvers?” the thin faced man in a cyan headwrap and matching robe was already trying to remove Wiesse from the jacket when another, significantly fatter individual started pawing at the other sleeve.

“Nonsense, Sir, a man of your caliber would surely see the garment’s true value. I offer you four silvers over that paltry sum!” the larger man was bashing shoulders with the thin faced individual as Wiesse protested. Yerin had to force himself between them as a bidding war started to escalate.

“Fuck off, ye pair of scallops!” he shouted, waving them away. They left without much fuss, turning their noses up and walking off. The larger one had already begun to pester another man for the shoes he was wearing.

“Careful around here, Wiesse, for every good honest person on the streets of Jandrir there are twenty con artists or miscreants of some nature.” Yerin said, shaking his head knowingly.

Wiesse smoothed out his clothes and caught his breath, “Cheers, that was definitely an experience I don’t want to be going through again.”

“Give it a week, I bet you’ll be coming back for them Silvers, boy” Lichter chimed in, he chose this moment to rise to a bipedal position and won them a small space from the crowd made by glancing passersby that wanting to keep their distance.

“Wiesse did ask an important question though, Yerin. Is it really wise for us to go through this busy a city?” Ross asked

Yerin looked about and nodded, “Con artists and swindlers, that’s what you’ll find in Jandrir. Guarantee half the city have bounties on their heads. This is the place to come to avoid trouble, jump a raft down river, or join a gang. There are options for a crook in Jandrir that aren’t available elsewhere, you’ll be fine. Besides, it’s the only place to cross the river for a reasonable charge. Luckily, in the Kaden Circle I know places to hide out if anyone ever comes for your bounty.”

“Is it all this busy? This many people just baffles me!” Felicity asked, she was leaning on the pitchfork she carried, looking bewildered.

“No, luckily,” Yerin said “It’s been awhile, but me and Troit did pass through here a number of full turns back. This district is the busiest by a long margin just because it’s the road out of town. Further in there’s warehouse districts and trading areas that are quieter, one of which we’re heading too now.”

He waved them on and started slowly batting his way through the crowd with a practiced authority, Lichter and Troit following in quick step. Felicity looked at the acting duo, who shrugged, and beckoned her on. They followed their friends into the city.

-

Yerin had been underplaying his description of Jandrir. It took them a turn of the fourth wheel just to get through the main street. When they did come out to a crossroads which opened up the city into a sprawling maze, they dutifully followed their guide through quieter streets past beggars and scroungers that tried to entice everyone into clearly rigged games of dice. A number of well-off looking travelers could be seen, having been caught out, arguing for their money back and large, looming figures looked from alleyways and alcoves ready to wrestle the possessions off those that didn’t pay up.

When they finally did get to Wheelbarrow Way, things had quietened down to a more desirable level of discord. Fewer vagrants roamed the streets and the shadowy figures in alcoves were mostly replaced by residents leisurely chatting through open windows or over hot drinks on the patios of small shops and eateries. Most of the buildings were large dilapidated warehouses, their old wooden frames creaking in the breeze. The darkened timber of the buildings was black and grey, or littered with flaking paint, in stark contrast of the colorful stalls that first greeted them. Gulls and other birds flittered over the rooftops, collecting in neat lines of white along the beams. They cawed as they journeyed back and forth between the river that was now a few districts away. The wide streets were uneven and dirty, the filth collecting in piles of muck at the streets’ edges and climbing the sides of buildings. Felicity remarked that it was as though the ground was trying to reclaim the materials from which the structures had robbed of it. This reminded Ross of a legend that was detailed in his Adventurers Guide, which he insisted on telling her about.

“There’s the place, just up there. Looks like it has changed hands now though. Used to be an old friend of mine that run it by the name of Arcus,” Yerin said and he pointed out one of the many old warehouses up ahead. An attempt had been made to make the establishment look like an inn - a couple of dangling flower pots framed the door, and from the second story a crane used back when the building functioned as a storeroom was proudly hanging over the doorway, swaying as it held a weighty metal model of a boat.

“Excellent, well changed hands or not, I just hope it has a toilet because I am desperate,” Wiesse overshared and he jostled to the head of the group awkwardly.

Troit was following him when he felt Ross prodding him in the back, “What’s the matter friend?”

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Ross was chuckling and Troit could hear Felicity suppressing a snigger too, “How much oil did you use yesterday, Troit?” the actor asked and jabbed at Troit again.

“Just the one bottle. I topped it up again this morning,” The barbarian said proudly, as though this were an achievement, and he sniffed at his lavender scented shoulder

“Well it was enough that literally every bug and insect that has landed on you is now stuck,” Felicity said, finally releasing her laughter.

Troit tried to look around but Ross stopped him as he gently nudged the small creatures until they fell off, “Ooo we have a live one here!” he said and Troit could feel the aggravated moth flapping its wings against his oily back as the actor probed it.

“Where has that great lummox of a lizard gone now,” Yerin asked, stopping everyone and causing them to look the way they came.

Lichter could be seen scampering towards them, trying to catch up. Behind him an angry local stood by an upturned table was shaking a fist at the Kkyrunnig and screaming something.

The croc-man stopped abruptly a few feet away from his team and tried focusing on something in the dirt.

What have we here? Lichter thought as his eye caught the gimmer of a shiny coin in the mud. Caring little for tact, he plowed straight in and proceeded to toss the sludge with claw and nose until he unearthed the single copper piece, which he promptly forced into the pouch of his cheek. He caught up with the others just in time to enter the pub.

Inside it was a standard affair for any inn, which Yerin pointed out was actually unusual for Jandrir, and part of the reason he favored this location over other pubs in the city. Being a former warehouse allowed for a lot of options for seating. At the back, long tables for bawdy drinking bands were available, though the current seats’ occupants were far from the raucous, dancing on table levels of drunk that was commonplace. Nearer to the bar were booths and smaller tables for quieter drinks, and a couple of steps led onto a tier for tables by a kitchen window, that offered cooked meats, bread and cheeses. Two other wings lead off from the entrance that further excluded patrons from the din of the main hall.

Wiesse had shot straight to the toilet stalls and Yerin was waiting for him at the bar with Lichter whilst the others secured one of the many empty booths.

“So, Arcus was your father, was he?” Yerin asked the barkeep who had offered few words but confirmed Yerin’s suspicions about the former owner by grunting an acknowledgment, “Where is the old timer these days?”

“Dead,” the barman said and continued to wipe ineffectively at a tankard.

Yerin and Lichter shrugged at one another, the innkeeper wondering off to avoid further conversation. Suddenly the door swung open with some force, and a jovial man entered. The dark-skinned gentleman wore a luxurious red robe, that was a contrast to his untamed beard. He made straight for the bar with a silver coin in his hand, slammed it on the counter and loudly called for a beer. Once served, he walked passed Lichter, stopped for a moment to look at the Kkyrunnig, and shook his head. Then he sat down on a bar stool between Lichter and Yerin, taking up as much room as was physically possible for him.

After a few moments of silence as the rogue and croc-man stared at him, the robed man eventually said, ‘Fuck it,’ and turned to face Lichter, “Drink?” he necked his own tankard and held up the change from his earlier purchase.

“Careful, Lich’, I’ll see you back at the table,” Yerin warned and he backed away from the pair of them, drumming his fingers on the countertop as he waited for Wiesse to return.

Lichter stared at the coins and smiled a wide, toothy smile. The man before him audibly gulped.

“Sure thing,” the Kkyrunnig said and waved down the barman, accidently knocking several of the brass and copper knickknacks that hung around the bar as he did so. It definitely got the server’s attention and he brought two full tankards over which the dark skinned man reluctantly paid for.

“I’m Vish,” he said, then followed it with, “What the fuck are you?”

“Lichter,” the croc-man said, and he was cut off before he could continue

“Actually, that’s a bad idea, forget that. My name isn’t Vish, it’s Gabriel, if anyone asks,” he said this with a smirk, “Come join me for a drink, say, around here where it’s quiet?” Vish stood and tried to lead Lichter around to one of the other wings, he patted the Kkyrunnig’s arm, then looked at his hand and wiped it off on his robe.

Yerin and Lichter shared a cautious glance but the Crocodile simply shrugged and followed the new arrival with his free beer. That is when Wiesse finally returned.

“Sorry about that man, when a man’s got to go a man’s got to go.”

“Eurgh, thanks for that. Now what’re you having?”

“What’s good?”

The innkeeper who stood nearby chimed in, “Beer.”

“A pitcher of beer then, I guess?” and Yerin advised the number on their table, taking the proffered tankards as the barkeep went to find a large enough pitcher for five people.

“You guys must be thirsty,” A voice interjected.

Yerin turned around as he handed off his money.

“That would be why we’re in the pub,” Yerin sneered, once he had sized up the new arrival and could tell he was not a threat. He was roughly Ross and Wiesse’s age, with long hair and an awkwardly forced smile.

“Don’t worry about my friend, he’s just an arsehole,” Wiesse offered, taking some of the tankards and doing what he hoped was a polite but conversation ending smile.

“I can relate,” the man said, then, after a moment of deliberation, added, “Not to being an arsehole, to having friends who are arseholes.”

“Come on, Wiesse,” Yerin said, already moving off to the table, “Just another scrounger trying to score a free drink.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Wiesse looked the strange, lanky man up and down, “I kind of thought you were hitting on me, to be honest”

“What, I, no! I wasn’t fishing for a drink, either!” the individual insisted

“Wait you haven’t seen my picture around, have you?” Wiesse suddenly thought and asked at once.

The lanky man made a show of thinking for a moment then said, “Um, not as I recall. Why are you famous?”

“We’ll just say, no, and leave it at that.”

“Come on Wiesse, stop dawdling,” Yerin called again, this time stepping back to Wiesse rather than towards their table.

They made to leave when they heard the stranger again, “Actually, I was just wondering where you got such a handsome looking tunic. I think it might really be my colour?”

“Not this again” Wiesse said under his breath “Oh, this? I’m a wine merchant, what did you think?” he winked at the man and walked off with Yerin laughing.

“I told you, Wiesse, nothing but swindlers and con-artists in this town. They will bleed you dry if they get a chance. Wait a moment, did you ask if he was hitting on you?”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t a pickup line?”

Yerin looked back at the person and sized him up “Nah, the pretty ones never flirt first,” he said, then noticed the man step away from the bar without a drink, and head towards a table by their own.

“I thought he might have been after the bounty at first,” Wiesse said, when Yerin suddenly hushed him.

“You might yet be onto something, Wiesse, keep an eye on him. They’re an adventuring band by the looks of it, and he may have been prying because you aren’t in the outfit described on the bounty.” Yerin subtly indicated the table next to theirs where a small misfit band sat, consisting of a handsome, nervous man, a large armour-clad warrior maiden, and a red-headed, bangle-laden woman. They seemed to very deliberately be doing nothing in particular.

The former actor gulped and sat down where he could still see them, with Yerin next to him. Sure enough, the stranger from the bar took a seat at that same table, with his back to them.

“How much did that all cost?” Felicity asked as she took a tankard and let Troit pour from the heavy pitcher into each of their steins.

“One coin less than the barkeep thinks it did,” Yerin said and he held up a coin which he ran between his fingers only for it suddenly to disappear as part of the trick.

“No way!” the former farmer said, and she pestered Yerin to show her how it was done.

Wiesse kept a keen eye on the man from the bar but made a show of being involved so as not to raise suspicion. The long-haired man had his back to Troit and Wiesse saw him lean round slightly, he couldn’t hear while Yerin explained the trick, but he saw the man talking.

Troit was enjoying the coin trick, something he had seen a thousand times but always forgot how it was done when he heard a ‘psst’ noise like someone calling a cat. He looked around for the culprit and for a mysterious cat which was sadly not under the table, when he finally noticed a face close to his as he looked back.

“Hello, friend. What can I do for you?” he bellied.

Ross and the others too involved in the trick to notice.

The man from the bar who was speaking in hushed tones said, “Listen. We know who you are.”

Hearing this, Troit was taken aback. Knowing someone before meeting them would surely be the quickest way to make friends, after all.

“Splendid!” Troit said, with the enthusiasm of a fish looking for water in a dry bank.

“Yes, and we are going to get you out of here,” the man continued. Troit noticed him look past the barbarian at the table as he spoke.

“Where are we going?” asked Troit further intrigued and his head was filled with various images and scenarios, favoring an image of a culinary school.

The other man continued to say something but Troit had zoned out. When he realized it was his time to say something, he had to fill in the gaps, “I just need to grab my cooking things then.”

“Not yet,” he heard from the other man along with some other words that included, “distraction”, which Troit remembered was a key part of the coin trick Yerin was still showing his own table.

“Oh good, I need to see the end of this trick anyway,” he said and turned back to the table as Felicity and Ross were both trying their hand at the sleight of hand, and Yerin continued to explain how it was done.

Wiesse leant into Yerin and filled him in on what he had seen.

“Told you to keep an eye on them,” Yerin replied, “next thing we know they’ll have you two stuck in a corner and your crappy wooden sword won’t protect you then.”

“What’s the plan?” Wiesse asked, suddenly nervous and wiping at the sweat forming on his brow.

“Wait, for now,” Yerin said, taking a long swig from his tankard, when he suddenly noticed the fine robe of Vish and/or Gabriel saunter over to the table where the other adventuring party sat, its wearer bearing a wide toothy grin, “Oh shit, Wiesse, where’s Lichter?” he said. But all the other man could do was look around in time to hear a very loud, very giant crocodile sounding ‘Thump’ from the other room.

“Fuck,” was all Wiesse could say.