The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven (44 page)

“Yes?” one of the men asks.

“My friends and I are looking for a slaver
by the name of Buka,” he explains. “Would either of you know where
we might be able to find him?”

When he says the name ‘Buka’, both men’s
expressions turn dark. “Buka doesn’t see anyone,” the older of the
two men tells him. “Let alone you people from the north.”

“But this is of some importance,” Reilin
insists.

The younger of the two visibly frowns.
“What?” he asks.

“That would be better left unsaid until we
could speak with Buka,” Reilin replies.

Snorting, the older man looks with derision
at him. “If you wish to buy a slave, then buy a slave or go away,”
he says. “But Buka doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“We would be willing to compensate you for
your help,” offers Reilin.

“There’s no amount you could give me that
would make me help you,” the older slaver states. “Your kind is
only suited for the block. Only the propriety of the auction has
made me endure your presence even this long. Go away before my
patience wears any thinner.”

Reilin looks from the older to the younger
and sees the veiled threat should he persist. Without a word, he
turns around and walks back to Jiron and James. “They’re not going
to help us,” he tells them. Then he summarizes the gist of the
conversation.

“Sounds like a couple of bigots to me,”
James says. “And you’re right, men like that are unlikely to prove
helpful.

“I’m not going to give up,” insists
Jiron.

“No one is saying that we are,” James
assures him.

From the platform where the women were being
auctioned, the auctioneer begins speaking loudly. They turn to look
and see that he’s standing there alone, the girls that had been
there having already been sold.

“He’s saying the auction is closed for the
day,” conveys Reilin. “There will be another in two days.”

“Two days!” exclaims Jiron loudly.

“Shhh!” says James. “Keep your voice down.”
Looking angry and upset, Jiron glares at him.

“Everyone is leaving,” Reilin states. “We
need to go or risk having attention drawn to ourselves.” Indeed,
the people are all moving toward the main entrance to the slaver
compound. “We can’t stay here.” Glancing back to the two older
slavers he just talked to, he sees that they continue to talk in
quiet conversation near the wall and are watching them.

“He’s right,” James tells his friend. “We
must go.”

Seeing no other alternative, Jiron nods and
the three of them join the crowd in its exodus from the slaver
compound. Once through the gate, they move down the street for
several blocks then come to a stop. Moving near the edge of a
butcher’s shop, they try to come up with another idea.

While they are throwing ideas back and
forth, a small boy no more than eight crosses the street and stops
before James. He looks up at him with a crooked grin.

“Go along with you boy,” Reilin says when it
doesn’t look as if he’s going to do anything.

The boy suddenly raises his hand and holds
it out to James, the crooked grin remaining on his face. Clutched
in his hand is a piece of paper. “Is that for me?” James asks. When
the boy doesn’t reply, Reilin translates.

Nodding his head, the boy’s grin becomes
larger.

James reaches out and takes hold of the
paper. As soon as he has hold of it, the boy lets go and turns to
leave. Reilin grabs him by the shoulder and asks, “Who gave this to
you?” Bursting into a flurry of motion, the boy wriggles from his
grasp and disappears into the crowd.

“Who would know that I am here?” he asks,
fear growing inside him.

“Maybe it’s Azku,” suggests Reilin. “Other
than us, he’s the only one who knew we would be heading in this
direction.”

“Perhaps,” James says as he looks at the
paper.

“Better see what it says,” Jiron tells
him.

“Yeah,” agrees James. “You’re right.”
Uncrinkling the paper, he sees there is writing on it.

Common room of the Wallowing Swine. Hour
after dusk.

“Great,” says James, “another enigmatic
message given by persons unknown.” He sighs, “Can’t people just
come right up to you and say things themselves?”

“This is often the way with those who wish
to remain unobserved while doing things that could bring them
embarrassment, or trouble,” explains Jiron.

“I suppose,” he says. Looking up at the
position of the sun, he figures dusk to still be a couple hours
away. “Let’s find where this Wallowing Swine is and then get
something else to eat before we meet with Mr. Mysterious.”

Jiron chuckles, “Mr. Mysterious.”

James gives him a grin and shrugs. “Let’s
go. I’m still hungry.”

Reilin asks directions and eventually they
find themselves in the seedier part of town. When they at last
stand outside of the Wallowing Swine, James looks at the place and
shakes his head. “Why can’t they arrange for us to meet at one of
the better places?” he wonders.

Overall the place has the general look of
disrepair, nothing major, just looks like the owner hasn’t put much
effort into it. The outside walls are cracked and one of the steps
leading up to the front door is missing. Rolling his eyes, he can
hardly wait to see what the inside is like.

“Still an hour to dusk,” he announces to the
others. “Let’s get something to eat.” They move off and head back
to the better part of town.

They return before the appointed time and
find that the common room of the Wallowing Swine is already
becoming full. James is amazed at the number of people here. All
the choice tables are taken and they are forced to sit near the
center of the room. Jiron would rather not sit so exposed, but
there’s nothing to do about it.

Once they’ve taken their seats, a girl comes
by and takes their order. Soon, all three are sipping mugs of ale.
While James sips his, he unobtrusively takes in the other patrons
to see if he can possibly determine which one sent them the
note.

“They have a better clientele than I would
have expected,” observes Reilin.

James understands what he’s talking about.
The outside of this tavern gave the impression of a dive, yet
counted among the patrons are men and women in fine clothes.
Gentlemen and ladies mixed in with the riff raff, altogether an
unusual sight.

“I wonder what brings them to a place like
this?” Jiron asks.

“The food maybe?” suggests Reilin.

“Hardly,” he replies. “No noble I’ve ever
heard of would be seen mixing with some that are in this room.”
Indeed, those sitting at one table look as though they’re a bunch
of thugs fresh out of the gutter. And next to them are a gentleman
and a lady who have to be some form of nobility, or at the very
least, wealthy.

As time passes, James begins to get
impatient. Whoever had sent him the note has yet to make an
appearance. His attempt at ferreting the person out by studying the
other patrons has yielded nothing more than returned looks of
annoyance. None of the others have given their table more than a
cursory look.

Then a hushed murmur begins from the back of
the room and James turns to see what it’s all about. One of the
wandering minstrels that are so prevalent in this world is making
his way from the back. Blonde hair and dark skin, he carries his
instrument to the stage that’s set against the wall. Calls of ‘Kir’
and other salutations are given to this man, both from those who
are the dregs of society and those who are well off.

“I think this minstrel may be the reason why
everyone is here,” observes Jiron.

From the way everyone has perked up and
treating the man, James can only agree with him. “I think you’re
right,” he says.

The minstrel sets his instrument on a stand
that is already in place on the stage. Then he brings the stool
that was against the wall forward and sets it next to the stand.
Taking his seat upon the stool, he faces the crowd which has grown
very quiet. James glances around and can see that every eye in the
place is on him.

From within his cloak the minstrel produces
a cracked wooden bowl that looks like it’s been with him for a very
long time and sets it down on the edge of the platform. Before he
straightens back up, several coins are flipped from the crowd,
landing in and around the bowl.

Taking up his instrument, Kir, at least that
is what James assumes his name is considering the number of times
people have said it to him, gets set to play. The room has fallen
absolutely quiet, you could hear your own heartbeat in the
stillness if you had a mind to.

Then he strums the strings of his instrument
and begins to sing. With the first note, James can see why this
place is so packed. The quality of the music is far superior than
anything he’s heard in a long time. The music is perfectly pitched
and his voice seems to move inside you and pull at your emotional
strings. When the music is happy, you are glad. When it moves to a
more somber tone, you sink with it.

During the time the minstrel, or rather the
bard as the quality of his music warrants him to be called, sings
the first song not one person says anything. Silence reigns until
the last note fades away, then the common room of the Wallowing
Swine erupts into thunderous applause. James, Jiron and Reilin join
in with great enthusiasm.

Then the bard begins a rollicking tune and
the patrons resume their conversations, albeit at a much lower
volume than what it was before Kir made his appearance. “I can see
why the people pack this place,” James comments to Jiron.

Nodding, Jiron says, “He’s about the best
bard I’ve yet heard.”

The night continues to deepen and still no
one has made any attempt to approach them. They empty mug after mug
while they wait for whoever it was that gave them the note. An hour
into his set, Kir gets up and tells his audience that he’ll be
taking a short break. He places his instrument on its stand and
then makes his way to the back where he enters the kitchen. A
smattering of applause follows him until he disappears through the
kitchen door.

While he’s gone, people gravitate to the
stage and place coins within his bowl. James gets up as well and
places a silver in among the other coins. To his surprise, he finds
a couple golds already there.

Back at the table, he says to the others,
“This Kir does pretty well for himself.”

“Wonder why someone with that much talent
hasn’t been snatched up by some noble before now?” questions
Reilin.

“Who knows?” replies James. “Could be he
likes life on the road.”

“Some do I hear,” agrees Jiron.

The buzz in the tavern has grown loud during
Kir’s break and only subsides when he finally makes his appearance
from the back. Taking his place back on the stage, he takes his
instrument in hand and then pauses a moment while the crowd quiets
down. He gazes around at the men and women who have come here to
hear him play. His eyes stop on this table and that as they make
their way from one side to the next. Then he gives them a smile and
starts in on a song.

After he sings the first line, James
realizes there’s something familiar about this song. Though he
cannot understand the words, he comes to the startling realization
that he knows it. It’s a song from back home that he taught
Perrilin shortly after he came to this world. Perrilin had bet him
a silver that he couldn’t sing him a complete song that he didn’t
know. He taught Perrilin ‘Home on the Range’ and won the
silver.

Kir’s gaze continues to sweep the audience
as he sings, yet more often than not, it settles directly on James.
When he notices James looking at him, he gives him an almost
imperceptible nod then moves his gaze to the next.

Perrilin? Here?
Now that he’s made
the connection, he can see that this Kir is indeed the bard
Perrilin he met long ago, despite the fact that his hair is now
blonder and skin more dark.
He must have been the one that sent
the note! But why?

He keeps this realization to himself. Past
experiences when dealing with Perrilin now gives him pause about
informing Jiron and Reilin. Who knows who else may be listening? On
one occasion he saved Perrilin from a group of men who were
torturing him. Those men had been led by a man named Korgan, who
James mentally refers to as Ol’ One Eye. He calls him that due to
the scar James had given him across the face that blinded one eye
when he rescued Perrilin from their clutches.

As it turned out, this Korgan was an agent
of Lord Cytok who is the left hand of the Empire’s Emperor, a very
important and influential person. James owes this Korgan big. Not
only was he responsible for the opening of the gates at the City of
Light and allowing the Empire in, but he has been trouble for James
on several other occasions as well.

Whatever Perrilin is up to, he obviously
doesn’t want his true identity revealed. Being a spy, as that is
what he has to be in one form or another, here in the Empire would
be a death sentence should he be found out. So James keeps his
thoughts to himself, sits back and enjoys the music.

Hour after hour they sit there and listen to
Perrilin sing. He can see the other two growing more and more
impatient when no one comes to them and makes themselves known.
“Maybe something happened to him,” James says. “If whoever it is
doesn’t show, at least we’ve had a good night’s entertainment.”

“I don’t like this one bit,” Jiron says as
he lowers his voice. He isn’t able to completely enjoy the music
and songs, worry for his friend Tinok and impatient that they may
very well be wasting their time here gnaws at him.

“What about the others?” asks Reilin. “What
do you think they are thinking since we haven’t returned?”