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Glenn struggled more than usual to keep up with Ron.
After returning to Krogman’s and then to the Sulfur Ash Inn, Kirby and Glenn got a meal of cornbread and ale, and then went upstairs to the party’s rented room to tell their tale. Three cots. That didn’t mean Glenn would spend the whole night sleeping on the floor. Everyone would spend a share of the night in the hard wooden chair, keeping watch. The men-at-arms slept in another room, one with a fourth cot for Guard Captain Nickson. That one had a cloth napkin tied closed around a cut of corn bread, waiting in vain for the guard captain to make his way to the inn, eat it and then join his fellows in sleep.
Blizz and the other driver, Simmer, slept at the stable. Glenn learned that it was a common thing, with hammocks strung above the horse stalls. There seemed to be a sort of community among the drivers and handlers staying there. It was likely that Blizz would’ve stayed near Bristle even if he’d been offered a spot in the inn’s common room.
The only person happy with Nickson’s betrayal and the subsequent outcome was Derek. He gave Kirby, sitting across from him, a thumbs up. He slapped Glenn on the back in approval so hard that a sizeable bruise wasn’t too far out of the question.
Glenn struggled to sleep. What little he managed proved fitful.
Drowsy-eyed, Glenn followed Ron to the Work Lines near the Copper Bucket, an important well house in the built-up part of the city. If they, themselves, couldn’t find a driver and a couple men-at-arms, Ron intended to contract the services of a hawker to secure potential recruits for the jobs.
Yonn and Slarg were both distressed at their captain’s failure to return. They’d left with Ron and Glenn, but hurried on ahead, annoyed at Glenn’s slower pace. The gnome was pretty sure they not only respected Nickson, but didn’t want to be ordered around by Derek. Their actions and attentiveness said they respected Ron. Instinctively they knew Derek would somehow bully them. As such, they avoided being with Derek whenever possible.
Derek and Kirby left to scout the area around the glassblower’s shop. Mardin and Blizz, and the other driver, Simmer, were to split time hanging out at the wagon repair shop and caring for the horses at the nearby stable.
Each wagon was to be rotated in for inspection and repair, especially their wheels. Stephi’s job was to hang out at the repair shop. Camouflaged under the eaves, along with Petie, Ron assigned her to watch for potential trouble.
While Glenn and Kirby had apparently taken care of the situation, a good thieves’ guild, if curious or motivated, or both, wouldn’t have too much trouble discovering what happened to Nickson. Especially with magic at their disposal. That included who might’ve been involved in the guard captain’s death.
Rather than being forced to trail behind, Ron maintained a pace that allowed Glenn to walk beside him. Morning traffic packed the streets with everyone intent on a purpose or errand.
Ron occasionally referred to one of his small leather-bound books, following instructions garnered from Nickson while on the trip to Riven Rock. Those were amended with a few notations after Glenn suggested the party leader consult Blizz.
Glenn depended on the towers in Three Hills City to keep from getting lost. At that moment in Riven Rock, he was hopelessly lost. His nose could find the shantytown slums, unless the wind changed. On the other hand, Ron’s sketched maps and Orientation Skill delivered them to the Work Lines.
The Work Lines contained anything but a line. It was a loud open area with barkers and hawkers calling for skilled and unskilled day laborers of all sorts, from brick layers to porters. Men, and a few women, milled about, with gaggles and waves moving toward one barker here, or a hawker there, coming away dejected or filing out with an employer.
Glenn tried to make sense of it. Ron’s Intelligence and experience better suited him to the task. Plus, his stature, compared to a gnome’s, offered a better physical perspective. Because of that, Glenn watched Ron’s back. Kirby would’ve been far better, but the gnome healer could identify a pickpocket or individuals with more nefarious intentions well enough.
Time and again Kirby reminded Glenn the one spotted easily is the decoy. It’s the one or two that aren’t easy to spot, those that move in while the decoy raises distraction are the threat. Bumps, distracting sounds, or odd antics meant something was going down.
“You see Yonn or Slarg?” Glenn asked.
Distracted, Ron said, “I have not.” He sighed. “Utilizing Blizz’s purported network among animal handlers appears to be a more suitable option.” A quirk of a smile crossed the warrior druid’s face. “Men-at-arms, on the other hand...”
Glenn stuck close as Ron wove through the gaggle of NPC humanity toward a cluster of men. There were about fifteen of them. Each maintained a no-nonsense glare, standing tall with chests puffed out. A few had pieces of armor but all carried some sort of a weapon. Maces and spears dominated the mix. One had a crossbow slung across his back.
Ron marched up to the group of men. They appeared closer to thugs than trustworthy mercenaries or guards.
The warrior druid placed his hands on his hips and eyed the cluster of armed men, each doing his best to impress with rigid stances and hard looks.
“Raise your left hand if you are a competent horse rider.”
Seven of the men raised a hand. Two of them raised their right hand.
Glenn got the “left” part of the question. A guard that knew left from right had some education, or military training. Still, with a fifty-fifty chance, that didn’t weed them all out. But why didn’t all of them raise their hand about being competent on a horse? That took them out of the chance for a job.
Ron pointed to four who’d raised their left hand and said, “Attend.” Without looking back he led the four to the outskirts of the Work Line area. Glenn trailed behind, trying to figure out why the party leader selected those four. The one with the crossbow made sense. Being able to shoot a monster from a distance was a plus. Of the other three, one had a flanged mace, one a short sword and the last, a spear. The crossbowman wore a thick leather jerkin with broad metal studs riveted to it. The spearman and the swordsman each wore a chainmail shirt. The man with a mace looked stronger than the others by a good measure, but only wore a buckskin vest over a thick linen shirt.
“I am hiring men to guard a small caravan as it ventures north. It is not my intention to return to Riven Rock. The span of service will be one week.”
The four men nodded in acknowledgment.
The warrior druid held out his hand. “Hand over your crossbow for examination.” The warrior druid inspected its condition and workings, then handed it back. He did the same with each candidate’s primary weapon.
Glenn walked around behind during the process and then returned to Ron’s right-hand side. The four men ignored the gnome.
Ron handed the swordsman back his short sword. “This weapon will not endure combat. You are dismissed.”
The swordsman’s shoulders slumped. Without a word he trudged back into the Work Lines.
“I am Lysine,” Ron said, “and this is one of my associates, Jax.” He gestured to the gnome. “What is the name each of you opt to go by?”
The crossbowman said, “Trumble,”
The mace-wielder replied, “Kronk.”
The spearman said, “Harold.”
“Payment shall be a serviceable sword, for you, Trumble. A mail shirt for you, Kronk, and for you, Harold, a round shield and helmet.”
The men’s eyes widened.
“While the proposed payment for such a short term of service may sound extremely generous,” Ron said, his voice low and serious, “we encountered a manticore making our way to Riven Rock. Ill-equipped men-at-arms will be of no value in such a fight.”
Glenn recalled the manticore and eyed Trumble, Kronk and Harold. They looked even less equipped and formidable than the men-at-arms the manticore killed. He refrained from gulping and nodded agreement to Ron’s assertion.
“Is that acceptable?”
The three men nodded and voiced agreement.
“Excellent.” Ron reached into his pocket and withdrew several index card-sized slips of paper. Taking out his pencil, he jotted down the names of the men. “Take these to the Sulfur Ash Inn and proffer them to the proprietor for admittance.”
Questioning looks crossed the three hirelings’ faces.
“Give them to the guy running the inn,” Glenn clarified.
Unconcerned about the failed communication, Ron continued. “Arrangements for meals and an overnight parcel on the common room’s floor have been made. Retrieve your gear for travel and report to the inn prior to the noon meal.”
After the hired men departed, Ron turned to Glenn. “Before you inquire, the individual bearing the short sword carried it as a mere ornament. The pommel was suspect and I believe the entire hilt assembly shall come apart upon rigorous combat.”
Ron looked around, getting his bearings. “Krogman recommended a weapons and arms dealer. You shall accompany myself or Kalgore there and assist in selecting gear for our most recent hirelings.”
“Okay,” Glenn said, hoping he’d accompany Ron.
“Gurk impressed upon me the necessity, when opportunities present themselves, of including you and Marigold in activities as they relate to adventuring.”
“Thanks,” Glenn said, then expressed what was on his mind. “I didn’t see Yonn and Slarg. Did you?” It wasn’t really a question.
“After questioning the hawkers and barkers with respect to Guard Captain Nickson, they were to join us.” The warrior druid released a huff of frustration. “That they failed to do so is an occurrence of somber concern.”
Traversing the city with Derek frustrated Glenn.
The gnome healer hustled to keep up with the big warrior. That meant people crossed between Glenn and his party member, throwing him off stride. Occasionally they fell in line between the two, if the gnome allowed the distance to grow too great. And he had to watch if Derek stopped abruptly. Otherwise, the gnome’s face would run into the sack Derek carried over his shoulder.
The large sack contained Guard Captain Nickson’s armor, helmet and sword, and didn’t slow the big warrior down in the least. The scabbarded-sword’s hilt stuck out of the canvas sack. It rocked and bobbed, and provided the gnome a beacon to follow. Glenn mentally compared it to a shiny fishing lure, enticing a frustrated fish to chase after it.
Glenn would rather have accompanied Ron and Kirby. They’d gone to scout the glassblower’s shop. Ron believed keeping the gnome and half-goblin separate while on the public streets was prudent, citing the incident that resulted in the guard captain’s demise. People had witnessed it. The cover of a dwarf, beardless due to an ill-conceived bet, might prove an interesting tidbit of a tale to tell over breakfast, lunch or an evening’s bitter ale. Hopefully more so than a gnome going around with a half-goblin.
Derek veered right, off the street, and stopped next to a stone building with a large arching door propped open. They’d crossed and circled around most of Riven Rock to the distant side of the southern hill. The gnome’s nose said they were near the continuation of a slum area that made up the outskirts of the big city. Somewhere beyond that were the planted trees and crops Stephi described.
The building’s first floor had narrow rectangular windows on either side of the steel-reinforced door. The steel-framed windows held steel bars set into them. The upper two floors had similar windows. From Glenn’s angle it was hard to tell if those windows had thicker or thinner bars.
“Long haul, gnome, and you didn’t even complain once.”
Glenn smiled up at his party member. That was almost a complement.
Krogman suggested Frank’s Arsenal when the party said they wanted to sell off the guard captain’s gear. It was nowhere near the wagon repair shop or the Sulfur Ash Inn.
Carts, wagons and porters continued past on the street, contributing grumblings, conversation, shouts and animal noises to the constant din.
“We’re gonna trade this good armor and sword for some functional crap armor and weapons for our new henchmen,” Derek said. “I can do that well enough, but if there’s an exchange of coin involved, you make sure the counting is done right.”
Glenn knew better than to give the big warrior a hard time about his low Intelligence Score and basic illiteracy. In real life Derek was a college student, and that situation is one that grated upon him.
“Sure thing,” the gnome said. “You know more about armor and weapons than I’ll ever know.”
“Damn straight on that.”
The proprietor of Frank’s Arsenal was named Arnold. His grandfather, Frank, opened the weapons shop several decades ago. Arnold wasn’t intimidated by Derek’s size, strength or meanness. The short, wiry fellow probably dealt with warriors all the time. The owner carried a scimitar on his hip, but the real deterrent to trouble was the brutish half-ogre wearing a battle-scarred breastplate, and who looked like he knew how to wield his war hammer. The guard never said anything. He watched patrons carefully from his position near the entrance, occasionally picking some sort of nut from a clay bowl resting on a tall, three-legged table. The guard smacked his lips while he ate.
Derek might not have a high Intel Score, but he knew how to barter. They came away with a decent mail shirt, a short sword that had seen some wear but remained serviceable, a helmet that had had more than a few dents hammered out of it. But the leather inside was new. They also obtained a round shield the same size as Glenn’s, made of steel instead of wood. They even came away with six gold, two silver and four copper coins.
With the refilled sack over his shoulder, Derek looked up and down the street. “Since I did such a good job trading, gnome, me and you can get a good lunch.”
Glenn glanced up at the big warrior. “Is that a good idea?”
“Sure,” Derek said, adjusting the load over his shoulder. “Lysine and Gurk’ll take most of the afternoon scoping out the place and the area around it. And I’m hungry as hell.”
The gnome healer figured the second reason was more important to Derek, but he was hungry and thirsty, too. Derek was right. Kirby said it’d take at least two days to check out the glassblower’s shop for patterns of activity and weaknesses.
“Sure, but no place with nuts on the menu,” Glenn said.
“Pissed you off too,” Derek replied. “Any other place I’d’ve smashed the tusked asshole in the face for being so damn annoying.”
Glenn wasn’t so sure Derek could take the half-ogre guard. At least not as easily as implied. Suggesting that wouldn’t go well. Glenn withheld a sigh. Hanging out with Derek sort of sucked.
The big warrior’s stomach growled. “Come on, gnome. I saw a place that looked like it’s got grilled goat ribs.”