'Ah true, the boy does like his beer.' Shart gave Mikiss a comradely slap on the shoulder and chuckled as he bounced against the wall. 'But he don't like it when people call him the ugly one.'
A wave of mixed odours hit Mikiss as he stepped over the threshold: sweat and straw, mildew and spilt beer. The tavern stank. It might be no dirtier than any other he'd been in, but the unnatural weather had produced a stench that had an almost tangible presence, one that Mikiss could feel even in the back of his throat. It made him gag, and even Shart grimaced.
The main room had a square central bar of oak and stretched a good ten yards. With no fire or lamps, Mikiss struggled to adapt to the gloom after the glare outside, despite every window and door being propped open like a desperate plea for the wind to return. The major leaned on the bar talking to a massive broad-shouldered man with his curling beard tied into a fat bunch that swung wildly, punctuating each nod or shake of his head. Mikiss guessed the man was a former soldier, for though he was taller even than the Menin officer, his deportment was deferential. Old soldiers knew trouble when they saw it, and this man, surely more physically powerful than Major Amber despite his bulging gut, was instinctively acting like a man under orders.
Shart gave a small cheer as he saw the two full tankards ol beer at the major's elbow. He had drained half of his before Mikiss had even dropped the packs and picked up his own. Amber and the barkeep were talking quietly. The local language had its roots in Menin, since the original inhabitants were largely Litse and Menin. Mikiss couldn't understand enough for a conversation, but Lord Styrax's preparation for the campaign had been met iculous. Elite troops of Amber's calibre were able to speak all the important dialects in the West, to cover eventualities just such as this.
The major gave the barkeep a nod and laid a silver coin on the bar top, saying something that sounded like, 'yes, for all!' before turning to Mikiss.
'All seems fine so far,' he commented, casting around the room again and seeing nothing of concern.
'So he will give us directions to find Purn?'
'He was told to expect us – well, you, anyway. Purn's servant left instructions a week ago and has been in each evening since to fetch his master's evening meal.'
'Servant?' Mikiss asked dubiously. They all knew the reputation of necromancers.
'Aye,' Amber replied grimly while Shart called the barkeep over to refill his tankard. 'Don't think he's too popular, but when the money's good, who's going to complain?'
'So is Purn nearby, do you think? It's rather busy for him in this part of town.'
'Doubt it, but that doesn't matter. Safer for him to get his meals from further away, and it's not as if he cares whether the food's cold by the time it arrives, not in this weather.'
'So what do we do now?' Mikiss asked, eying Shart as the man enthusiastically set about his second pint.
'We wait and we eat,' Amber said firmly. 'The man's not coming until evening and I don't want to be wandering the streets just waiting for some bored patrol to pick a fight.' He nodded towards the barkeep, who smiled nervously in response. 'He'll bring us food in a while and make sure our tankards are kept full.'
Are you sure you want to let these two drink all afternoon?'
A smile split across Amber's face. 'They know their limits. Trust me, even if they start singing and dancing on tables, they'll sober up in an instant if someone draws a sword or throws a punch. That little incident was just them letting off steam.'
'Letting off steam?' Mikiss shuddered. The brothers had been bleeding profusely by the end of the vicious fist-fight they'd had a week back.
Aye, they didn't do any real damage. Shart's got too many words in him; sometimes they just come out too fast and he gets on Keneg's tits. Keneg has to remind his brother which one's the elder, who's in charge.'
'They beat each other to a pulp!'
Amber's smile widened. 'We got a saying in the army, "No man's your brother till you spill blood with him." Those two know there's no grudge to hold; even Shart knows that he's not going to win most of the time, but he don't care. They kick off, get it all out of their system and forget about it before the bruises fade.' The major gave Mikiss a friendly thump on the arm, which was still smarting from where Shart had accidentally slammed him into the wall. 'Anyone else spills their brother's blood, and not even the worst fiend of the Dark Place will stop them.'
Mikiss looked at the pair. Shart was chatting animatedly with the barkeep, clearly enjoying the chance to practise his language skills. Keneg was staring at the floor, happy in his own world of silence. They couldn't be more different. Most likely half of their arguments start when Shart accidentally hits Keneg while he's talking, Mikiss thought, watching the younger waving his hands wildly to demonstrate a point.
Presently something resembling food was brought out by a greasy-haired girl. Her eyes were dark with fatigue, betraying a lack of sleep that left her movements weary and sluggish. Even Keneg's glare when she slopped a little of the brackish stew elicited no response.
Mikiss watched Major Amber hunker down over a tough crust of bread, though his eyes were firmly fixed on the right-hand corner of the room. Mikiss could barely see the men sitting there, a broad-shouldered man roughly Amber's size and a smaller companion. They had been anxiously watching the new arrivals, which had prickled Amber's instincts. Now the mismatched pair were huddled together over their table, examining something.
'Strange,' Amber whispered to Mikiss when he realised they were watching the same pair. 'An odd paid of labourers: one damned pale and skinny, the other as much a soldier as I am, and from those scars on his hands I'd say one who's seen the wrong end of a torturer in his days.'
Mikiss half expected Shart to make a joke, but the brothers were busy with their food. The only sign they gave of having heard Amber was a surreptitious loosening of weapon ties. 'Do you think they're here for us?' he asked.
'I doubt it; General Gaur said there were bad things brewing in this place. Knowing what Isherin Purn's sort are like, I'd expect his favourite taverns to be at the centre of whatever is going on. Whatever those two are about, it might not be anywhere near legal, but as long as it's nothing to do with us I don't care.'
They lapsed into silence, concentrating on the food, grateful at least that the poor excuse for stew had softened the bread a touch. An hour crept past, then another. The day grew hotter as the afternoon wore on. Through the open shutters and doors they could hear the sounds of city life dwindle to almost nothing under the oppressive weight of the heat.
Major Amber advised Mikiss to try to get some sleep, and did like¬wise himself. Mikiss lay on a bench, trying to summon the strength to move, but even that was beyond him. He had never experienced weather like this before; even in Thotel the air moved, and during the hottest part of the day you could retire deep within a stonedun. Here, there was no scrap of breeze to offer even the smallest respite, just an overpowering helplessness that weakened both spirit and limbs. Sleep was elusive; his body jerked itself awake every time his eyes drifted closed because of the day's stultifying oppression.
'I hate this city,' he muttered feverishly. 'With my eyes closed, it feels more like the Dark Place.'
'Don't close your eyes, then,' Amber growled beside him.
Mikiss gave a disconsolate sigh and stared at the dirty beams in the ceiling until he realised something. With a grunt he sat abruptly up, feeling his damp back peel away from the bench below. His head swam and he had to rub his face to restore some life to it. 'Our friends have left,' he said.
'Went about an hour ago,' Shart replied shortly. Even his natural garrulousness was defeated by the heat.
'I didn't hear them.'