There are a fair number of enforcers in the tavern tonight. Most likely loitering about hoping for some gossip on how the hunt for Norien's murderer went. Even in a place as depraved as Elftown, her gory end excites interest. The room falls silent when I walk in. Apparently, everyone knows who Jet sent for vengeance. I ignore the stares as I stride to the bar.

"Meal and a drink on the house," I say to Aqia, the somewhat battered but accommodating serving girl. "One!" she calls back to the tiny kitchen. As she pours dark ale into a too-small mug from a grimy barrel, I hear some of the other enforcers muttering behind me. Because my drink is on the house, they are guessing that our mission went well. A couple of whispered names are on the elves' lips as well. Rien. Ertaë. Two of Jet's rivals. Two of the more powerful ward bosses. So that's who Jet's men have been speculating are responsible. Sometimes these toughs are worse than fish market merchants' wives. Except the fishwives tend to be more accurate.

Aqia hands me the mug and I move to an empty bench on the back wall, behind a thin eating table. I take a long, satisfying drink. The ale is not bad. Strong and doesn't taste too much like mud. I lower the mug to see all the eyes in the place on me. Then Enturi walks in and I am left alone. Only for a few moments, though. Damn if the pretty boy doesn't get his drink and come sit next to me. Apparently it is too much to ask to enjoy my ale in the peace of my own company.

"Why didn't you tell me Jeamo was a patrician?" Enturi whispers at me from behind his mug.

"I assumed you knew. Did you not see him out the window?"

"No. By the time Lynae started down the ladder and I could see anything, he was already around the corner."

"Oh," I say. "I didn't know that. Sorry. Jeamo is a pat. A dead pat, now."

"Thanks," Enturi replies sarcastically. We both take another drink. Aqia brings the stew, bits of steaming fresh fish in a spicy sauce nestled in a bowl of heavy dark bread. I ladle a spoonful of the fish and sauce into my mouth. It's good. Good enough that even Enturi stops talking so that he can eat.

The thunk of wood on wood gets my attention and I look up from eating. There are three more mugs on the table, each sloshing with ale. Another elf slides onto the bench opposite Enturi and me.

"Looks like you could use another," the elf says with a friendly smile. He must be new. Looks very young. Only has a dagger, no armor. Not even any scars yet. He can likely barely afford to buy these drinks. What an idiot. Sucking up to older enforcers gets you exactly nowhere in Jet's organization. It may even hold you back. No one likes a bootlicker. Jet himself is concerned only with ability. Even Enturi's approach to the boss is more focused on placing his own contributions to any particular endeavor first, not some sort of bare sycophancy.

I take a closer look at the novice. It's the punk who came to fetch me this morning. Great. I suppose he thinks that somehow entitles him to join us. It doesn't. Ordinarily I would take the ale and tell its purchaser to slime off. But hell, if I can put up with Enturi, how much more annoying can a wide-eyed, ale-buying messenger be? I give him a curt nod of thanks, take a swig, and resume eating.

"Looks like you saw some action today." Ah. He's fishing for information. Cute. Probably put up to it by some of the other enforcers.

"Oh, we did," Enturi says smoothly, putting down his wooden spoon. "Left a pretty little pile of corpses down by the waterfront. A handful of bodyguards, including a massive ogre. A couple of murderous perverts. Even an egg stalker." I notice how he doesn't mention that two were human, and one a pat. Or that they were Norien's murderers. Being careful.

"As you can tell," he continues, nodding at me. "It was a bit touch and go." The hell? It occurs to me that my damaged armor and my freshly scarred face are still covered in dried blood. I must look a little rough. Still, I look better than those I fought. Of course, Enturi came through the day with barely a drop of blood on his cloak. I give him a dirty look and resume eating. He keeps talking. "Arquë is more dangerous than you might guess by looking at him." 

I put down my spoon and turn to stare balefully at Enturi.

"Quick as lightning with his blades," he continues. "And his temper."

Funny how his compliments always sound like insults.