Role

Chapter 8

Business was slow as Athald turned off Knight Street and into The Long
Voyage. He could hear the sound of the rain drops as they collided with
the building's stone shingles, flowed into ancient stone gutters and
eventually poured out onto the street below. A fog had rolled in from the
north river and very little could be seen outside the bar's windows.

The noise level inside was decidedly muted. There was a young bard with a
standing gig, but he had rightly estimated his tips would be meager this
evening because of the weather, and chose to stay home. Hanigan didn't
even look up when Athald approached the bar; he was busy methodically
drying a row of freshly washed pint glasses. He did a double take when he
finally did, though, having immediately seen through Athald's half-hearted
attempt at disguise. A sly smile crept onto the old man's face and his
still-bright eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Ahoy there, Marshall! You thinkin' of changin' guilds, eh? What's that
strapped across yer back?"

Hanigan had noticed the unmistakable outline of an instrument hidden
beneath the plain gray rain coat with which Athald had chosen to wrap
himself lest he attract undue attention.

"Not quite Cap'n, but I thought I might play a tune or two, with your
leave. Looks like your regular man took the night off?"

Hanigan spit on the ground at this, only realizing belatedly that he was
the one who'd have to clean it up. He grunted his irritation.

"Aye, he did at that. Good-for-nothin' lad. Don't know why I keep
lettin' 'im come back. Maybe this'll be the last time!"

Athald paused then and seemed, from Hanigan's perspective, to look through
him at something very far away, or perhaps long ago. "Don't be too hard
on him, Hanigan. He may may yet amount to something, Light willing."

"Aye aye, Marshall. So what'll ye have? Yer usual?"

"Yes, that will do. Thank you, Hanigan."

The old man busied himself behind the bar, filling a shot glass with
whisky from a bottle he withdrew from a locked cabinet. Athald knew it
was the best he had available. He dropped a couple of gold coins on the
bar; it was easily a hundred times the cost of his drink.

"Ach, Marshall! It's too much! I'll not have ye thinkin' I'm in need'a
your charity!"

Athald smiled. "Nothing of the sort, Hanigan. Consider it compensation
for the loss of revenue."

Hanigan looked confused, but it wouldn't last long.