"Spare a few coppers for a man down on his luck," the old beggar wheezed, blowing a noxious fume in the other man's direction.
The stranger, however, proved to be no soft touch or easy mark,. He pulled his cloak aside to show not a purse, but weaponry that had heretofore remained hidden. At his side was a stylish, basket-hilted short sword. Across his left breast was a belt housing several feathered, steel darts.
"If you would like to eke out the rest of your miserable existence, I would suggest you move along. Otherwise, I could arrange for you to make an early withdrawal from this hellhole." The stranger was being sarcastic, but there was enough menace in his eyes to warn the old beggar off.
As he returned to his place at the bar, the old man muttered under his breath, "Gettin' pretty damn difficult to earn a decent living these days. Nobody respects the beggin' class anymore."
The barmaid brought the stranger his boiling water, and he brewed himself a cup of tea with it. It was a special krrf derivative which would enhance and heighten his artistic senses, though it would dull his practical perspective somewhat. The drug was often used to supplement the working of his trade, that being the singing of songs and the weaving of tales.
As the stranger sipped his tea, a more familiar figure waddled into the Vulgar Unicorn. It was Bakarat, called the Toad, one of the most affluent men of Sanctuary's merchant class. The fat man waded through the crowd to the remaining free table on the west wall. As he seated himself, ignoring the stranger at the next table, three other seedy characters left their stations at the bar and slid (or more appropriately slithered) into the seats opposite the Toad. They began their devious conniving, trusting the noise of the barroom to cover their clandestine plan-making.
"I have a job for you, Mange," Bakarat said, addressing the oldest of the three men across the table from him.
Like the Toad himself, the man he spoke to fully warranted his nickname. Mange was a bounty hunter. And on one too many nights of sleeping on the forest floor of the swamps, he had picked up a rare scalp disease which caused his hair to fall out in patches. Hence the unkind name "Mange."
"What is it?" the patchy-headed man replied. "The boys and I are always happy to be of service to you."
Mange referred to his two companions. Bakarat knew their reputations from his previous dealings with Mange. The big, muscle-bound, lanternjawed oaf was named Wik. He was the bounty hunter's muscle. Wik continued drinking ale, paying little attention to the bantering of Mange and the Toad. Decisions and plan-making were the work of those better suited for it mentally. Wik was happy to take his orders and spend the money he got buying a few moments of even more ignorant (if that were possible) bliss in drunken stupor.
The third man was a skinny, snotty-nosed youth named Speido. He aspired to the thief's profession and had a particular talent for stabbing unarmed and unsuspecting people in the back.
"Listen up, we don't have much time," Bakarat ordered his three companions. Then he laid out the plan that they were to apply their special talents to.
"An old woman named Maria! will be returning to her rooms at the Warm Kettle shortly. She'll be bringing her three grandchildren with her, and they will be returning from an interview at the Scholar's Guild where she was hiring the kids a tutor."
"How do you know when she'll be getting back to the Kettle?" Speido sneered. "Surely she won't be walking the streets at night with those brats."
"I have paid to have her delayed," the Toad replied in an aloof manner. "My connections in the Scholar's Guild will make sure she leaves at the time appointed."
Mange smiled as the merchant put Speido in his place. The young bravo had a lot to leam when it came to dealing with men of Bakarat's caliber. It never occurred to the bounty hunter to question that what the fat man told them would transpire exactly as planned.
"You three are to kidnap the children," Bakarat continued. "And make sure that you do not harm them. Then take them to the normal holding place and wait for further instructions." Bakarat finished his orders with giving the men Mariat's description. Then the trio of bandits rose and left the Vulgar Unicorn to fulfill their errand.
After they left, Bakarat called one of the local harlots over to his table. As the fat man was distracted with her attentions, the stranger seated behind him slid off his chair and wove his way through the crowd to the door. Progress was slow and cumbersome, due to the crowded conditions, the krrf tea the man had drunk, and the anxiety which was quickly overcoming him.
As he moved through the room, his cloak fell to one side, revealing a mandolin which was slung across his shoulder.
Seeing it, one of the tavern patrons cried for the minstrel to give them a song. Although the man had originally come to this dive in hopes of such employment, he turned it down now as a far more important matter possessed his mind.
He reached the door and miraculously avoided any brawls caused by bumping into the Unicorn's uncouth clientele. He escaped into the night and paused briefly to breathe the unpolluted air outside- Of course, the three men he was looking for had already disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, Sinn took off in a run to make his way out of the Maze.
As he wound his way back through the alleys and twisting turns of the portion of town called the Maze, Sinn cursed his krrf-muddled senses.
Part of his success as a minstrel was due to the fact that he etched every detail of everywhere he went indelibly into his mind. Now, however, he was in a state of panic, fearing for the lives of his friends. And the drugged tea he drank was no help as he struggled to remember the course out of this rat hole. His heart sank as he realized that the thugs would probably reach the Warm Kettle long before he would have a chance to get there and warn Mariat of her danger.
He swore for the one-thousandth time to kick the habit of taking krrf. This time, he had an impetus which he felt might make his oath stick, The bard skidded to a dead halt at an unfamiliar intersection. He looked around him bewildered, his heart leaping up into his throat and its very beat screaming accusations of ineptitude at him.
Then he spotted a familiar landmark, a house with red-painted shutters down the right-hand road. He took off again and passed through a shadowy lane. His hopes were just beginning to rise when a figure leapt out of the shadows. Catching him by the arm, it spun him around to face the bare steel of an unsheathed stiletto.
"Since you're in such a hurry," the thief whispered, his rank breath rich with garlic and beer, "you won't mind if I relieve you of the heavy burden of your purse. That way, you can get where you're going much faster." The thief sneered as he motioned with the knife for Sinn to give him what he wanted.
The sudden shock of the confrontation cleared the bard's head. As the drug's effects dissipated, he drove the reason-freezing panic from his mind.
Sinn nodded condescendingly and reached slowly into his cloak. The thief licked his lips, expecting a nice haul from one so richly dressed as the minstrel was.
To his surprise, the thief suddenly found himself looking down the blade of a fancy short sword. The moonlight gleamed wickedly off its sharpened edge, promising death.
The minstrel's quick and deft movement had been a single blur of motion. Now Sinn had the upper hand on the situation.
"Out of my face, damn you," the bard cried. "Or I'll nail what little brains you have to the back of your skull!"
The thief gulped, turned, and ran, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the Maze.
Sinn forgot him instantly and took in his surroundings- He was now completely disoriented and had no idea as to which way he should go to get out of the Maze and make it back to the Kettle.
With a silent prayer for inspiration and direction to whatever gods would listen, the bard fled up the street and into the night.
Mariat let out a gasp of relief as she rounded the street comer and saw the friendly, familiar lights of the Warm Kettle just ahead. It was neither wise nor safe to be walking the streets at night, even in this relatively calm section of Sanctuary. The empty streets and sidewalks she had traveled on her way from the Scholar's Guild attested to that fact.