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The tavern was called The Four Dolphins,
but it was the tenth waterfront bar that Guthram had entered that
morning. He was fresh off the river dhow and hungry - hungry for
work, for money and for a roof over his head. The town was called
Eth-Kazin, a settlement that had grown up around the nearest beaching
point for a copper mine; half of the town was cave dwellings, the
other half was stilt-houses, with their foundations in the river
bed. It was the biggest collection of buildings Guthram had ever
seen in his life.
Inside, the bar was not much different
from the others he'd entered that morning. There was a beggar with
his alms-bowl just outside the front stoop, there was a tough-looking
ex-sailor at the door who eyed him up and down (Guthram was wearing
a scimitar on his hip, but then so was everybody else in the tavern),
and there was the usual gaggle of regulars downing jacks of thin
ale and eyeing every passer-by as a potential source of interest
and conversation.
Guthram was sun-bronzed and lean.
He carried himself with the nervous air of a wolf that sniffs the
outskirts of civilization. Grey-eyed, his brown hair bleached to
tow by the sun, he was dressed in a ragged tunic and travelling
cloak. He carried his entire worldly goods in the pack over his
shoulders and he was barefoot because barefoot was safer on a boat,
when he might be called upon to haul lines or reef the sail at a
moment's notice. He had sandals in his pack, but he had become so
used to his feet being bare that he had forgotten about them.
As he passed a table of middle-aged
lay-abouts, one of them snickered at his ragged attire and at his
evident youth. It was painfully obvious that he was another settlers"
family farm boy off to seek his fortune in the wide world. They
saw up to a dozen passing through in a week. Most would return saddened
and embittered by their experiences in the fleshpots of Helkath,
the nearest city down the Sungai River. The rest would disappear,
some to bob up in the river with a knife in their ribs, some to
be never heard of again.
Guthram knew he hadn't gone about
this job-hunting expedition properly right from the start. To begin
with, he knew he should buy a pot of ale and engage the barman in
some small talk. Then he should casually mention that he was looking
for work and ask if the barman happened to know anybody who needed
a strong back and a willing pair of hands. The problem was that
he hadn't enough coins to put on a dead man's eyes, never mind buy
a pot of ale.
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Still, he was hoping to make up for his lack of subtlety with persistence.
He went straight up to the bar, where
the barkeeper was plying his hammer and faucet to the bung of a
stubborn cask of ale. The barkeeper was a skinny fellow, wearing
the tunic of a townsman. When he saw Guthram, he set aside his hammer
and said, “What'll it be, youngling?”
“I'm looking for work,”
said Guthram, slightly breathless, too anxious. “All I need
is a roof over my head and my keep.”
The barman looked him up and down.
“Did the port-master send you here?”
“No, I just walked in off the
street.”
The barman looked him up and down
again. “So - you just walked in off the street and you expect
me to give you a job?”
“I'm a hard worker,” said
Guthram evenly. “I'm strong and willing. I'd be no trouble.”
The barman looked over at the table
where his regulars were all waiting with huge grins on their faces.
“You'll be no trouble, all right - I'm not hiring today.”
Guthram nodded, trying to hide his
disappointment. “Fair enough. Do you know anybody who's looking
to hire on?”
The barman considered this for a moment,
as he stroked his stabled chin. “You might try the Temple of
Tabbaoth,” he said at last, then turning to grin at his customers.
“I hear they're always looking for willing victims for their
sacrifices.”
He was rewarded with a chorus of laughter
from his cronies at the tables. Guthram grew red, and he knew he
would get nowhere here. He turned to go, when one of the regulars
at the table reached out a hand and caught at his sleeve.
“I hear Iäz the Wizard is looking
for fit young men,” he said, through his tears of merriment.
His buddies all quelled their laughter in expectation of another
jest.
Guthram shook himself free and stalked
out, not waiting to hear the punch line. The wag shouted it after
him anyway: “He's got no frogs in his lily pond, so anybody
who turns up there looking for work has got a job for life!”
“And,” chimed in one of
his fellows, “all the flies he can eat!”
Guthram slunk out of the tavern, unable
to meet the eye of the sailor who kept watch at the door. The beggar
had gone, so at least he hadn't witnessed his humiliation.
Turning up the street, he made his
way to the next building, which was that of a livery stable. He
knew something of horses, so he decided to try his luck in here.
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