The crevices in the wood felt like the grain of a weapon’s handle. The bar was rougher than Dago expected; friction caught his hand more than once as he slid it over the surface. He sighed, pressed his fingernails into one miniature canyon, and took another sip of the treble he had been drinking. It was a classic Radregan beverage, malted from maize into a stiff drink.
“You were saying?” asked the man next to him. The fellow had given Dago a name at the beginning of their conversation but the drunk sellsword couldn’t remember it.
“Was I?” Dago asked.
The stranger grinned. “Miss Puzzle, you said, had stowed you in the hold with that Dellton damsel, only to get herself killed in Elpan.”
Dago sighed. “Yes, yes. Ssirtthh.” He intentionally drew the name out. “Though, she didn’t die, as far as I know. Never saw her. Spent some time in Elpan after that, did what I had to. And a bit more, ha-ha! You know, join the locals if you want to live.”
“Sure,” the stranger shrugged. He drank from his beer, then scratched his stubble-shadowed chin. “They’d have killed me on sight. I’m just a millwright in these parts. Got a crew of three and a work force of fifteen. We get the job done. But I wouldn’t’ve survived in Elpan, not even a little.”
“Right, right,” Dago said. “On the Crimson Highway, finally had a turn of good luck. Ran into another of those damn mages, the lout even knew the name ‘Miss Puzzle.’ He picked up my fare for my trouble and to give him some information, and that brought me the whole way to Ith. Then—well, some of the riff-raff on the road required a strong hand to keep in order. Still no job. Still no damn job.”
“Let me get this straight,” his drinking comrade said, as Dago finished off the glass of treble and slammed it down onto the poorly sanded counter. As the stranger summed up the story again, the barkeep noticed Dago’s wagging finger and came to refill the drunkard’s cup. “So, you were hired by Lord Shea to collect the payment owing him from a number of rogue merchants, but Lord Shea told Miss Puzzle of your track record and your legendary escape from Yarik…”
“Good so far,” Dago muttered. He took a sip of his fresh glass. The room was spinning.
“Then you happened to walk into Miss Puzzle’s hostel, only to be captured and shipped around Radregar to Elpan. You outlived all of them, Avice, Miss Puzzle, Sirth, and made it back to civilization… and the biggest thing you’re down about is that you don’t have a job?” the man asked. He again scratched his beard.
“You got it.” The sellsword tapped his glass against the other’s beer mug, though the millwright paid him little mind.
“Most men would give up the sword by that point,” the man said.
“Most men would be dead,” Dago retorted. “And I don’t mind saying so.”
“True there, my friend, true indeed.” This time he accepted Dago’s toast and they both drank. Then, the stranger asked, “How much do you need to make?”
“Make?” Dago asked.
“Yes, like how large of a payment?”
Dago shrugged, and scratched the bar again. “Well, it’s not really about the payment. Anything would suffice, I reckon.”
The man nodded, and slid his drink away. He emptied a coin pouch onto the counter, and slid three Ith commoners to Dago. It was small change. Enough for another drink or two, depending on how Dago wanted to tip the tavern. “How’s about you work for me for a while?”
Dago frowned as he considered it. It was hardly going rate. But something like three-hundred percent of his pay from the last month on Miss Puzzle’s voyage. And it was a job. He could be Hired Dago again. “What did you say your name was?” he asked the millwright again.