The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

After dealing with their prior commitments, purchasing supplies and renting lodgings at the Fisher's Haunt, they ventured toward the alehouse Pearl had told them about.

The sun was already starting to dip by the time they made their way inside, and the dimly wooden interior of the tavern was already filled with a few soot-stained men who were enjoying an early evening drink.

They barely looked at the trio as they made their way inside.

The back room, where the owner resided, was a narrow coffin of a room. A scrawny man sat by a desk, munching strips of fried chicken in his grease-stained hands. Surprisingly, for Coin, a kobold was behind the desk, muttering as he read through the ledger beside him and made meticulous notes.

"Hail to you, good ser!" Pearl called, resting a hand on her lute. "Any chance you need any performers tonight?"

The man glanced up, his unibrow furrowing. "Oh, a bard?" he asked. "Suppose it couldn't hurt. Our juggler broke his balls, y'see."

Pearl's smile grew slightly uneasy. "Well he... could surely buy new ones?"

The owner solemnly shook his head. "Not that kind, ye can't." He cleared his throat. "Er, anyway, I can afford to give you... fifty for the night? And you can keep seventy percent of any tips you get."

"Eighty," Coin interjected.

The owner blinked a few times. "Eh?" he asked, eventually.

"Pearl is very talented. So good, in fact, that she was recently held captive as a result of her skills. She deserves more money."

The kobold looked up from the ledgers. "At this time of week, we're bound to have many customers, Riggo. We do need the entertainment, lest things get testy." He spoke with a better grasp of common tongue than Essine.

"Shut up Syric," the owner hissed. He took a breath through his nose. "I ain't made a' money. But how about sixty?"

Coin turned to the bard, who bore a sly smile on her face. "Seventy?" he suggested. She nodded.

Riggo grunted and motioned to a lockbox beside the kobold, who proceeded to create several small stacks. "You'll get half now, an' half when you're done," the owner said, before going back to his meal.

"Wonderful," Pearl said, taking the offered stack of coins. "Come the middle of the night, you'll have a whole alehouse of singing, happy drunks."

And so they set off, with Pearl setting up with her lute near the rear of the room. Coin took up a spot only a few paces from the modest stage, while Essine bought an ale for herself.

In the grand history of Arcadian tavern performances, there was nothing particularly distinct about Pearl's performance. Her music was good, as ever, even managing to hold the attention of several burly drunks (even if many of them were more interested in Pearl's physique than her music).

Occasionally, ducats would be tossed to the stage and Coin would hastily scoop up each one before they even stopped spinning on the varnished wooden floor. More than once a man got too belligerent and tried to approach the stage.

With these fellows, Coin would initially try to politely guide them away. When they refused, as drunks often did when they felt they were being challenged, he'd knock 'em flat with a well-calculated punch.

It was a challenge to gauge his own strength. By now Coin had devoured so much biomass that he could easily punch a man's head clean off if he wasn't careful. It was one thing to kill armed men but society, as a rule, frowned upon unarmed fools getting torn limb from limb.

The average town guard would consider it an excessive use of force, and ‘a little bit rude.’

But, for the most part, the drunks were more interested in brawling with each other than their new bard. Coin watched, calmly, scanning the rowdy crowd for anyone who ran the risk of breaking ranks. And as he did so, he couldn't help but fixate on one man in particular near the back of the alehouse.

All intelligent beings are only able to evolve to that point by developing an ability to suss out danger, to recognise a potentially harmful person or item with a glance. And the man his eyes settled on managed to set off every survival instinct alarm bell in the back of his head.

He was a somewhat short and stocky man, dressed in surprisingly clean green robes. His greying beard was oiled and styled into a point, the hair atop his head faintly thinning. His jutting brow was tanned and lined with many wrinkles. He wasn't a miner, clearly, but the locals paid him little mind.

At a glance he did not seem too imposing, compared to the brawny men who surrounded him. But there was something in his eyes that immediately stood out to Coin, a merciless coldness that reminded him of some of the more brutal adventurers he'd had to deal with in the past.

It was easy to tell when a person had killed in cold blood. Their eyes gave them away.

Pearl exhaled as she finished her last song for the night, lifting one hand and repeatedly flexing her fingers. "Goodness," she said in a low voice, managing a small smirk. "So good to play for a crowd of my own volition."

"This one does not believe they are the most attentive audience," Essine murmured from where she sat.

"Still..." Coin raised his hands, exposing the modest stack of coins they had been given. "Not a bad haul." He regarded the man from the corner of his eye as he spoke, the bearded stranger having a hushed conversation with a rather burly miner.

Something about him just really made Coin uneasy. They had nearly been attacked once on the road, by people who were apparently on the lookout for their haul specifically. Could other criminals have been told to seek them out?

Elijah made his way inside from the entryway, dusting his hands off as he went. "There you are," he said, managing a wry chuckle. "Goodness. I was wondering where you lot ran off to."

Coin looked beyond his shoulder to the street outside. It was already getting dark, and a gentle rainfall was starting to patter on the paved streets.

"Decided to earn a little extra coin while we were in the area," Pearl replied. She sighed dreamily, tucking her lute onto her lap. "I was worried I was getting rusty."

"Mm, well, fortunately you know how to make some money my lass," he said, smiling and stopping near the stage. "Although... we should probably try and beat a bit of a retreat," he said, looking to the crowd.

By now a bit of a clamour had risen in the middle of the alehouse, with two very large men drunkenly shouting at each other. Whatever they were saying was rendered unintelligible in a slew of slurring snarls.

Coin strained his ears as best he could, but even that did little to help him make anything out. At best he believed one man called the other man a limp wristed... sack of sheets, to which the other called the first man a fat... birch.

And on and on the namecalling went, both men drawing in closer until they were nose to nose. At which point the first men said something about the second man's father (something about romancing a goat, Coin didn't hear all the details) that made the man flush purple with rage. And just like that the fists were flying, a brawl that dragged in more and more people in a maelstrom of flying fists and furniture.

"Oh dear," Essine murmured, nearly dropping her tankard in shock.

"Let's, er, be on our way, shall we?" Elijah suggested.

"Oh, I haven't settled up with the owner yet," Pearl murmured, warily watching the chaos as it unfolded.

A stool flew through the air, whipped with the force of a javelin, making a beeline for Elijah's brow. Coin caught it by the leg mid-flight, the jolting shock of it all nearly knocking the old man over.

"G-good grief!" he cried.

"You should... perhaps settle up in the morning," Essine murmured.

"Agreed," Pearl stiffly replied.

The group hastily scurried around the chaos, making for the back exit to avoid the brawl as it shifted around the alehouse. And, as they went, Coin couldn't help but see that the strange man he'd seen earlier wasn't in the crowd. He wasn't in the alehouse at all.

They emerged onto the damp backstreets, rife with a pungent smell of stale vomit. "Well!" Pearl said, forcing a smile. "That was... interesting. I suppose. Those rough customers were a tad rougher than I expected."

"Mm. Agreed," Elijah murmured. "We should perhaps turn in for the night. Nearly getting my skull caved in has left me rather tired." He offered Coin a smile. "Thanks again, my lad. You're a real hero."

"Oh, I... I wouldn't go that far," Coin replied, laughing nervously. His eyes peered into the gloom beyond, the streets filled with a slowly rising fog. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the mysterious man, chattering with his cohort as they left the alehouse behind.

The man turned in the dark, briefly watching Coin and his group, before pressing onward.

Coin frowned. Maybe he was just being paranoid. But if there was even a slight chance of danger, he couldn't entirely disregard it. He'd need to follow the fellow, see what he was up to, just to put his mind at ease.

"Oh, damn," Coin said, stiffly patting at the outer pockets of his coat. "I er, I think I forgot something back at the shops earlier. You should go on ahead of me, I'll meet you all back at the inn later."

"Well... if you're sure. I'd tell you to stay safe but frankly I think you're indestructible," Elijah said as Coin turned to leave.

A nervous burst of laughter escaped Coin as he vanished into the fog. "You and your jokes!" he called back.