Ambassador to the Freaks

(8) Good Drinks

Once outside the wooden walls that surround all of Joten, Auren dropped the cart and stretched the weariness out of her arms and back. “Can’t believe I sold my horse. So, how are you enjoying your first trip outside the city?”

Lewin said, “I’ve been out here before, you know. Elocyne even took me riding with her last spring.”

“Oh, how romantic.”

“Terra went with us.”

Auren rolled her eyes. “At least you won’t have that killjoy fluttering around anymore. But I wasn’t talking to you.” She leaned over the cart and drew back the canvas covering that Monsta had pulled over herself. Every human in the city had wanted a look at her, and for a creature used to avoiding the gaze of others, it had been a bit much. Now the mermaid held her body up to look around. The city was behind them, but in every other direction were open plains, bathed in the fading light of evening. The horizon was dominated by the hills that surrounded the valley in which Joten was built. Forests grew in the foothills, and clumps of trees dotted the plains, but other than that it was open country all around.

Monsta’s eyes widened. “It’s like ocean.”

“I guess so.” Auren patted her on the back. “Most of the world is, little fry. Open, free, and full of sharks.” She dug around in the cart until she found a small coin purse. “I’m going to take her to our camp. Can’t haul her around everywhere we go. You head back into town and wait for me. We’re going to pick up some books for you, maybe even some books on magic.”

“Really?”

She tossed the purse to him. “Sure. It’s as good a time as any to see if you’ve got any knack for it. There’s a tavern with a golden apple on its sign; not sure what it’s called.”

“It’s called The Golden Apple.”

“That makes sense. Wait for me there, and order me a Tragedy stout.”

“What is that?”

She hefted the cart poles. “The best beer this side of the Di-Joten.”

Lewin watched as the two of them grew smaller in the distance. Even in the fading light, he could see the two green dots of Monsta’s eyes looking back at him.

The Golden Apple was a fine-looking establishment. It had bright colors painted on the walls outside, its sign was happy and welcoming, and even the door seemed like the door to a home rather than an establishment. All of this was a clever ploy to disguise what was inside.

The shelves and casks stored beer, the tables supported tankards of beer, and in the back, beds were set up for men who had passed out from beer. It was a business model that worked.

Lewin stood in the door for a few seconds, afraid to go in but also afraid of drawing attention from being so conspicuous. He crossed the room to the sound of voices and clattering dice. The owner, or at least the dirty man at the bar, did not pay much attention to him. Lewin sat, afraid that his clothes might stand out, since they were the only thing in the tavern that was clean.

“Sir?” The owner did not respond. He was trying to catch the eye of people who wanted beer. This boy did not register as a potential customer. “Excuse me, sir.” Still no response. This had happened before. Lewin had grown up around people who always listened to him, and as such he had never really developed the skills to get others’ attention. How had he gotten around this problem before?

Oh, right. Elocyne would grab attention for him. She was good at that.

For all his life Lewin had been waiting to become the Ob-Enon. That day, in that tavern, he decided that it was time. Children make the decision to mature all the time, but the decision rarely sticks. As he sat there alone, Lewin skipped a few years of growing up.

“Barkeep!” In addition to shouting, he slammed down a coin on the table. The barkeeper heard him that time. He brought his face closer than Lewin wanted.

“What you doin’ in here, boy?”

Lewin recoiled for a moment; he realized why later. “Tragedy stout.”

The owner raised his eyebrow. “That’ll kill ya.”

“It’s not for me.”

The barkeeper shrugged and went to fill the order. Lewin thought about what had just happened, and why it had seemed so strange to him. As the mug of nearly black stout was slid over to him, he realized: this man did not know who he was. All his life, princes had known his name. Now he was in a room full of drunks and soon-to-be drunks and none of them knew he was the Ambassador. It was frightening and liberating both at once.

A big man sat down next to him. Lewin ignored him and hoped the man would do the same. The man did ignore the boy, but not the beer. He took the mug and upended it into his open face.

Lewin turned to respond and nearly said ‘excuse me’, but realized that those words were far too polite for this unshaven wall of muscle. What words would be appropriate?

“Hey, ugly!” The door slammed behind Auren, who was crossing the room toward them. ‘Ugly’ turned around to face her; every head nearby was turned toward her. “That’s mine.”

He grinned and swallowed what was left. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tossed the mug at her feet. “There y’are, sweetheart.”

Auren had clearly had far too long a day for this. Her hand rested on the hilt of her weapon, which was sheathed, for the moment. “I’m having my drink, so either treat me to another or I’ll open you up and drain that one back out.”

Ugly puffed out his chest, which was hairy and only partly clothed. He had no weapon, but as he clenched his knuckles they seemed sufficient. “This is no place for a castle maid.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Lewin was not comfortable. In the castle, this kind of exchange would never have gone on this long (except between the king and princess, perhaps). He then noticed a man approaching Auren from behind, and a glint of metal as he drew something from his belt.

“Two more stouts!” The Ambassador tossed the entire purse onto the counter. Auren and her adversary both turned to look him. “That should keep us all happy.”

The man took a step toward him and placed a very large hand on his shoulder. “I think I’ll have both.”

“Well, I think you’ve already got more than you bargained for. My friend there was hired by the king, and he’ll wonder where she went if she disappears. Also, before you got here, a city constable took a room. I don’t know how drunk he is, but I can scream pretty loud. Besides, are you really going to brag to your friend there about beating a child?”

Lewin wondered how many of his words this man was hearing. He seemed to hear the word ‘constable’ at least. Auren moved closer to them, and the man behind her moved closer as well.

A big grin spread across the big man’s face. He let out a guffaw and slapped Lewin on the back so hard that he was knocked off his chair. “Let the boy have mine.” He kept laughing to himself as he walked out, giving Auren a slap on the back as well. It didn’t move her; she remained rigid as a tree. The other man followed him out.

Auren helped Lewin stand back up. “You all right?”

“Why were you antagonizing that man?”

She shrugged. “Everything worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it cost me the money for my books.”

The two mugs slammed on the bar in front of them. Auren licked her lips. “At least you get something for it.”

Lewin stared into the mug. Candlelight flickered on the coal-black surface of the beer. Judging by the smell, maybe the barkeeper had been right about it being able to kill him.

It was fully night when they left. The clock tower chimed out its familiar sound. Lewin and Auren left the town behind them again, this time for good. “What exactly did you say to that man, Lewin?”

“I let him know how bad an idea it was to start a fight.”

“Lewin, not even kings understand that argument.”

“I had to do something. There was another man behind you with a knife.”

“I know. I see more than you think. I was hoping to see how you behave under pressure. Too bad I didn’t learn much.”

Lewin thought about what she had just said, and the way she had said it. “Wait, did you…”

“Better to learn what kind of man you are now, don’t you think?”

“Is that why you sent me in there!?”

“No, I sent you in there to learn how you handle danger, and to get my drink.”

“What if I had been killed?”

Auren rolled her eyes and sighed. “Are you going to be like this for our whole journey?”

“So that’s why you provoked him?”

“That’s just how I am. It’s probably not a good idea to let me do the talking from now on.”

They were near enough to their camp that Lewin could see the wagons by the firelight. There were three of them, two large models and a third one that was more of a large cart. All three were painted with the bright patterned colors of an entertainer’s wagon, but the paint on all three was in varying states of fading and chipping. The wagons were circled around the fire, where a pot sat bubbling over the flames. Lewin recognized Monsta’s shadow flickering in the firelight, but there were others there as well. It made sense: most mercenaries traveled with hired hands. None of them were seated; the wagons were being packed and readied in a hurry. The news that they were going to leave today was a surprise to them as well, apparently.

“Ready to meet your crew?”

“I guess so.”

Auren plopped herself down near the fire and grabbed a pair of bowls. One she shoved into Lewin’s hands, the other she used to scoop out some of the stew. She pointed to the men loading one of the bigger wagons. “See anyone you recognize?”

Lewin looked, and the bowl dropped from his hands. There before him was man who had nearly attacked Auren at the Golden Apple. The big fellow met his gaze and smiled. “Well, if it isn’t our little diplomat!”

“You?”

The man approached and extended his hand. “The name is Roope. Very excited to meet you properly, sir.”

After a few seconds of looking rather dumb, Lewin shook his hand. “My name is…”

“Lewin, the Ob-Enon, of course. Sorry for being so rough, but Miss Auren wanted a good show.”

Lewin shot Auren an angry glance, but she sipped at the stew and pretended not to notice him. “Show?”

“Certainly.” Roope clapped his big hands twice and about seven heads poked out from different areas around the camp. One was the smaller man with the knife from earlier. “Troupe, you’re in the presence of an important fellow. Come present yourselves.”

The troupe approached in a combination of walking, bounding, and somersaulting. They lined up before Lewin in order of tallest to shortest. Roope introduced them, starting with the shortest.

Cory, his son, a juggler and part-time actor.

Leesil, daughter of a friend, and an actress in training.

Roddy, driver and handyman, and also an actor. (This was the other man at the bar.)

Sandra, Sandy for short, his wife, a singer and actress.

Phreeda, acrobat and actress.

Bertram, resident magician, and also an actor.

“And finally, my own self: Roope, head of the best troupe that can fit into two wagons. Don’t worry too much about learning all the names. We yell at each other enough that you’ll learn them eventually.”

Lewin could not help smiling. There was something about Roope’s charisma, the troupe as a whole, and the absurdity of the whole thing that delighted him. “A pleasure to meet you all.”

“Oh, that’s not all.” He gestured to the wagons. “We’d be nothing without our biggest members. The first is Good Drink, the second is Lovely Woman. Smallest one is Poetry. She’s helpful, but doesn’t bring in a crowd like the first two. Also…” He motioned to Roddy, who turned and vaulted between Good Drink and Lovely Woman. Moments later, he appeared with two of their oxen in tow. Roope smiled and said, “Meet our hardest working members: Bredan and Derrian.”

Lewin’s smile faded a bit into confusion. “What?”

“A bit of a tradition, sir. We name the animals after the royals of whatever country where we buy them. It was Miss Auren’s idea originally.”

“That does not surprise me.”

Auren gulped down the last of the stew. “Tell him about the cow.”

“We found ourselves a draft cow in town to pull Poetry. She’s got a bit of a temper, so we thought we’d name her…”

“No!” Lewin always regretted yelling just then. It made his first impression with the troupe a bit harsh, and made it harder to make friends with them later. Still, he would not hear of what they were planning. “You will not name a cow after the princess!”

Roope froze for a moment, then smiled and gave a half bow combined with a shrug. “As you wish, Ambassador. Any other ideas, then?”

Monsta started giggling and motioned to Roope. He approached her and leaned in close enough for her to whisper. His big grin reappeared. “Well, that’s an idea.”

“What?” Auren dipped the bowl back in for a little more. “What’s the little fry’s idea?”

“Well, beg your pardon, but she suggested that someone else among us might have a temper to match even Princess Elocyne’s.”

Auren sipped a bit of the stew before realizing what they were suggesting. Once she did, she nearly choked. “What!?”

“Well, from what I hear, you made quite a scene today at the Golden Apple.” Roope then took off at a run as Auren chased him around the wagons, the ladle in her hand like a sword.

“Your Majesty?”

Mellius III looked up from the map his son had brought. One of his liveried attendants was at the door. “Yes?”

“Sir Shen is here, as you asked.”

“Send him in.”

The attendant disappeared from the door and a man entered. He was cleanly groomed and well dressed, like all of Mellius’s knights. He bowed, approached the desk, and bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

“You will be accompanying the Ob-Enon.”

Shen nodded. When the decoy group had left without him, he had suspected. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but why not Halls or Eriden?”

“The mercenary girl requested you by name. Any idea why?”

“No, Majesty.”

The king looked at the knight with his heavy glare. “Well, she did, and I accepted. You’ll be keeping the boy safe as he does his job. However…” The king stood. Shen stood a little straighter than before. “Your first duty is…”

“To my kingdom, Sire.”

“To your kingdom. If the mercenary gets any ideas about abandoning her contract or taking other sides, you will have charge of the boy. Kill her if you have to.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“The boy is fond of the mermaid, so if you have to get rid of it, don’t let him know.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“The Ob-Enon is only helpful to us if he can talk down the cyclopes. If he can’t do his job, or if he makes things worse, the decision will be up to you of what to do with him, but he cannot join our enemies.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The king sat back down. “You may go.”