Business was not good for Erryl and Fang. Most citizens of the town had sequestered themselves in their homes, most likely. If there were even that many left, given the local ghouls. The meeting with the mayor had gone nowhere.

Those who did populate the simple road that made for the main thoroughfare of the town had largely avoided him and his companion. No doubt part apprehension of strangers, no doubt another part being the beastly countenance of Fang. Triseria, the fallen kingdom, was not too far from Gordhurst, or New Gordhurst, and surely there were tales of wolves, men, and those between.

As the grey day took on the faintest tone of orange, approaching the late afternoon, Fang suggested they find a place to stay, with some urgency. His condition warranted some extra precaution tonight. Umbra, one of the moons, would be full, and that always exacerbated his condition. Beneath the purple light, Fang would be more susceptible to the feral nature he strove to obscure.

“No worries, my friend,” Erryl reassured him as best he could. He’d remembered Willimun torn to shreds, approaching the wolfman despite the early guidance not to. It had ended up a long and bloody night. Erryl knew to listen to Fang on these matters.

Erryl took hold of the tabard that rested upon Fang’s massive sword, which he had jammed into the muddy ground. The tabard depicted the familiar mark of Fools’ Errand – the embroidered skull capped with the twin-tails of a jester. Fools’ Errand had built up a reputation that preceded them most anywhere. Even this far east, Erryl reasoned. He rolled the tabard up tightly as Fang scraped at the muddy end of his word.

“To the inn?”

Fang still had his snout covered by the cloth bundle of herbs.

“We’d be better off in the woods. I don’t think they would take too willingly to me spending the night in their village.”

“You’re a remarkably well-behaved dog; surely they’ll see that.”

Fang glared at Erryl. Erryl smiled, showing a crooked tooth. “But just let me do the talking, yes?”

“You’re not nearly as likable as you think you are, Erryl.”

Erryl tucked the tabard into his bag and walked toward the inn. “You’ve not killed me yet? That must count for something.”

Fang sighed and trudged along after him.

“You’re my emergency rations.” The wolf’s voice was a low rumble.

Erryl snorted.

…

What little conversation could be had in the small tavern of the inn had evaporated as the Wolf stepped into the darkened, smoke-filled chamber. His weight strained the floor, making an audible squeak of wood against wood, and when the few customers caught sight of him, they must have feared the floor collapsing.

Erryl broke the silence. He stared directly at the barman. 

“That mayor is a cunt, isn’t he?”

Nobody said anything, but after a moment, the barman spoke.

“Here for that drink now, hm?”

Erryl flashed a crooked smile and glanced at Fang, who towered above and behind him. The wolf gestured to a corner away from the fire and most people. He nodded and made his way over to the chosen corner as Erryl approached the bar. As he leaned over the counter, he watched two old men shrink in their seats as Fang passed. After a moment, they looked as though they felt safe enough as the werewolf lowered himself into a too-small chair, which creaked audibly. Fang sighed, a breathy snuffle from oversized lungs and a large mouth, removing his bundle from his face. He pulled a small tome, comically small, from his bag. The wolf settled in to read in the dim light. It was the same one with the strange, thin cover and even thinner pages – the one in the language Erryl hadn’t been able to decipher.

“Big fella, your friend is, isn’t he? He, uh… all there? Ain’t seen a Triserian in a while, much less one that sits in chairs.”

The barman slid a glass to Erryl, who gestured to the bottle the man was already holding. The barman poured. “He won’t be trouble, will he?”

“Not at all, friend. I seek to keep him indoors and out of Umbra’s gaze. I am certain you have a room, yes?”

The barman couldn’t help but stare at the wolf.

“For you, sure, but I’d get strung up in the streets if I so much as offered the beast one. Folks don’t take to his type here – what with the massacre and all.”

Erryl knocked back the amber colored swill. It was certainly a brew that would have benefited from further aging.

“I noticed you had a stable behind your business here, and not a nag or pony to be seen. Surely we can come to an arrangement for my friend?”

Erryl waved to Fang, who either chose to ignore him or was too engrossed in his book. Erryl waved it off.

“As you can see – harmless.”

…

It’d been a few moments, but Erryl had negotiated a room for them both. Himself in one of the rooms upstairs. Fang in the stables. Erryl had regaled Fang with the negotiations as he sat across from him, mentioning the barman’s name, which he’d just learned: Mister Nathan Gorten. The wolf simply set down the strange, papery book and stared directly into Erryl’s eyes. It made Erryl uncomfortable.

“I guess that is the best I can ask for. I need to eat quickly and make sure there’s no chance of Umbra’s light through the slats,” he said in a hushed tone.

“I’ll see to it myself. So let’s enjoy a meal, we have some time, yes?”

Fang picked up his book, continuing from the page where he left off. He didn’t look at Erryl. “Maybe an hour. If it gets too dark, cover me and pray as we head out to the stables.”

“Of course. You can trust me.”

“I trust you to not want my jaws around your throat if you can avoid it.”

“Exactly.”

The two sat in silence as Fang continued to read and Erryl fished out a pipe, puffing away dutifully. After a few moments, a girl approached. She was childlike, but her face had a hard quality to it, and any of the innocent lustre had dissipated from her eyes. She’d had a hard life in a short time.

She also made a show of not showing that she was intimidated by the hulking presence of the werewolf. Nor Erryl’s own rather fearsome countenance. There is a certain look to killers, and Erryl knew he carried it with him.

But to her credit, the girl stood straight before she approached, set about her duty.

“Are you looking for something to eat?” she asked. The quaver in her voice betrayed her. She was terrified. She kept trying not to look at Fang, who sat there quietly, reading to himself.

“Yes, my dear. What can the kitchen drum up quickly? We need to feed my friend here.”

Unprompted, still engrossed in the book, Fang rattled off “mutton.” The girl nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Aye, yes, we have mutton,” she replied. “We also have potatoes and bacon.”

Erryl took a long puff from his pipe and glanced at Fang, who had not noticed the girl staring at him. Erryl tapped his fingers on the table where his arm rested, and she turned her gaze back to him.

“Mutton for my friend, the potatoes and bacon for myself. A glass of wine for me, and…”

“Beer,” Fang added, still not pulling his eyes from his book.  The damn book Erryl couldn’t read.

“And there you have it, miss. Thank you.” Erryl slid a gold coin to the edge of the table. “For you. We’ll settle the food with the rooms in the morning.”

For as dull and as fearful as her eyes had been, they suddenly shone as brightly as the gold on the table. She paused a moment, glancing at the Wolf and then snatching the coin away, hurrying to the kitchen.

“The girl was terrified of you; you could have been friendlier.”

“What girl?” Fang asked. He had yet to look up. He turned a page, muttering something about a “haw-bit.”