Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

Cheering. Applause.

The door opened and Arista stepped inside, then closed it behind her and leaned on it as if she were barricading it with her body. “Where’d they all come from?”

“Word spread,” Ayers replied, looking self-conscious. “I need to get back to the bar. I can’t leave the mob too long without refreshment.”

As Ayers exited, Hadrian spotted Mince standing with the other boys just outside the doorway. Hadrian waved them in. All five entered the dining room in single file and stood just inside-afraid to move farther.

“They came to our room and told us there was food down here, sir,” Renwick said to Hadrian. “But we don’t know where to go.”

“Take a seat at the table,” Hadrian replied.

All the boys reacted with the same shocked expression, a mixture of fear and wonder.

“Oh, we aren’t going to have the servants eat with us,” Alric said, causing the boys to halt.

“There are enough chairs,” Arista pointed out.

“But honestly, stableboys? Look at them. They’re not just servants; they’re children. There must be somewhere else they can eat.”

“Actually, if I may…” Hadrian spoke loudly, stood up, and grabbed a hold of Mince, who was attempting to worm his way out of the room. “These young men here,” Hadrian said, pointing to Elbright, Kine, and Brand, “assisted in rousing the people of Aquesta to open the gates for you and your army. And Renwick”-Hadrian pointed at the oldest-“was a tremendous help to me as my squire during the time I pretended to be a knight.”

“Still am, sir. I don’t care what they say.”

Hadrian smiled at him. “He also fought in the palace courtyard and was one of the first into the dungeon, if you recall. And this young man here,” he said, holding the squirming boy with both hands, “is Mince. This child, as you call him, has been singled out by the empress herself as being instrumental in the overthrow of Ethelred and Saldur. Without them, it is very likely that your sister, Royce, I, and even the empress would all be dead. Oh, and of course, so would you and Mauvin. Not bad for a stableboy. So for all that they have done, don’t you think they deserve a place at our table?”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course,” Alric said quickly, looking a bit ashamed.

“Sit down,” Hadrian told them, and they each took a seat, smiles across their faces.

A rotund woman with short, ratty hair and saddlebag cheeks backed into the room from the kitchen, carrying a deep tray of spit-roasted lamb. She wore a gray wool dress and yet another grease-stained apron.

She approached the table and stopped abruptly, looking at the diners with a disappointed-even irritated-expression. “Missing three,” she said, her high voice reminding Hadrian of a squeaking door.

“I’ll bring a plate up for Royce. He’s… he’s not feeling well,” Hadrian explained.

Arista glanced at him. “Is it okay to leave him alone?”

Hadrian nodded. “I think so. Besides, if he wanted to do something, who’s going to stop him?”

“Elden will also be staying in his room,” Wyatt mentioned. “He has a thing about crowds.”

The cook nodded. Her large breasts, outlined by the apron, hung over the edge of the pan, threatening to nudge the steaming lamb. No one else spoke. Finally she asked, “And where’s that scoundrel Degan Gaunt? I can’t imagine him turning down a free meal.”

“Scoundrel?” Hadrian said, surprised. “I thought he was a hero here in Ratibor.”

“Hero?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you know. Local boy who went off to seek his fortune, became a pirate, and returned to lead the liberation movement.”

The cook laughed, though it was more like a cackle that juggled its way out of her round throat. She put down the tray and began cutting the meat.

Everyone at the table exchanged glances.

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know his background, but Gaunt was no pirate. That I do know.”

Again, the cook cackled and this time put a hand to her lips, which turned the laughter inward and caused her shoulders and chest to bounce.

“Are you going to let us in on the joke?” Alric asked.

“Oh, well, it’s not my place to be spreading rumors, now is it?” she said, and followed the statement by making a show of biting her lower lip. Her hands slowed in their work and then stopped. She looked up and a huge grin pushed the saddlebags apart.

“Okay, so it’s this way,” she said, lowering her voice. “I grew up only a few doors down from Gaunt-right there on Degan Street. Did you know that his mother named him Degan because it was the only word she knew how to spell, having seen the street sign for so many years?”

Now that her mouth was going, so were her hands, and she sliced portions and delivered them to their plates, heedless of the little trails of grease she left. “Anywho, his mother and mine were close and I used to be best friends with his sister, Miranda. She was a joy, but Degan-well, even as a boy he was a demon. We stayed clear of him when we could. He was a pitiful little wretch. He got caught stealing dozens of times, and not because of need. I mean, I don’t agree with theft, but pinching a loaf of bread from Briklin’s Bakery when the old man has his back turned to surprise your mother with on Wintertide is one thing. I ain’t saying it is right, but I overlook something like that.

“Well, as for Degan, he goes in for stuff like smashing the window on the curio shop so he can have a porcelain rabbit he had his eye on. Thing is, everyone knows he’s a no-good. You can see it in the way shopkeepers watch him or shoo him out the door. They can spot the likes of him a mile away.”

Just then, Ayers barged in. “Jimmy, get to the cellar and roll out another keg. They’ve already drained the one we pulled up earlier.” The boy put down his pitchers and ran toward the kitchen. Ayers stared at the cook. “You’re not bothering these folks, are you, Bella? Is she bothering any of you?”

“Not at all,” Arista replied, and all the heads at the table nodded in agreement.

“Well, keep it that way. She has a way of yammering, she does.”

Bella blinked her eyes innocently.

Jimmy appeared, rolling a barrel from the kitchen.

“How many we got left?” the innkeeper asked.

“Four.”

Ayers frowned. “I shoulda ordered more, but who knew…” He pointed at the diners and shrugged. Ayers took control of the barrel and returned to the tavern. Bella waited a moment, staring at the door. Then a grin filled her face and she went on.

“Now, just ta give you an idea about how bad things got for ole Degan, he even received a visit from the BD telling him to cut it out. Course he don’t and yet somehow managed to avoid punishment. Miranda and I used to talk about how that boy was charmed. But after his mother’s death, he got into some real trouble. Now, I wasn’t there to see it, but rumor is-and it sure seemed like the kinda thing that idiot would do-he got drunk and raped Clara, the candle maker’s daughter. Well, her old man had connections. Not only was he a favorite merchant to the royal chamberlain,

but his nephew was in the BD.”

“BD?” Myron asked. “I don’t understand.”

“BD-Black Diamond,” Mauvin told him.

Myron still looked confused.

“Not a lot of literature on them,” Hadrian said. “The Black Diamond is a very powerful thieves’ guild. They control all the illegal activity in a city, just like a potters’ guild controls the pottery market.”

The monk nodded. The cook was standing still again, holding a lamb chop between two greasy, stubby fingers, waiting, as if her body could not move unless her mouth was.

“I’m sorry, please continue,” Myron said. “This is a wonderful story.”