Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 11 Pt. 2

 Notes: Let's have a little more backstory, hmm? Hiram's curious, and who can blame him?

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 11 Pt. 2

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Chapter Eleven, Part Two

 

Legend Has It…

 

 

 

To tell Letty, or not to tell her? On the one hand, it would be considerate to give her time to prepare for a meeting with The Thread, of all people. It could be life-changing, after all. On the other hand, it seemed like Letty had already convinced herself that Hiram was going to be of no use to her, and that he shouldn’t even try. What were the odds that she would just ignore him if he tried to convince her it was the thing to do? No, better that it happened naturally in some way. As if it was happenstance that she was able to meet with them, rather then preplanned. The only hitch was creating those circumstances.

Ah, well. He still had a few weeks to think about it. Now that the aftermath of his temple visit had faded a bit, and people had proven to be more circumspect than he’d counted on, Hiram’s sense of sociality had come back full swing. He had a place to live, a burgeoning business, and enough money to spare after every week’s Market Day that he could afford to live it up in town a bit when the mood struck him. And in Lollop, there were really only two places to spend your money on a regular basis: The Yew Brew, if you were in the mood for clean surroundings and hearty meals, or The Highwayman, a tavern on the eastern edge of town that catered more to travelers than locals.

Hiram visited the Yew Brew several times throughout the week, once to treat Tilda to dinner closer to her own house, and once to simply sit and absorb the conversation that flowed from patron to patron like a lazy river. It didn’t even take any magic of his own to hear what people had to say, because Phlox was happy to repeat it for him sotto-voce.

“The older gentlemen at the table by the fireplace say they’re surprised to see you without your lady friend.”

Hiram hummed thoughtfully as he took a sip of ale.

“They say their wives expect you to propose to her by midwinter.”

“Ha!”

“Something I can get for you, Hiram?” Jonn called from where he was pulling drinks a bit farther down the bar.

“I’m well for now, thank you,” he replied.

“Right, then.”

“Have you entirely forgotten how to be circumspect, Xerome?”

He tapped twice with one of his fingernails on the counter.

“Oh, lovely, we’re communicating in the Undertone now.” Phlox huffed. “Just admit you’re bored. Maybe you should propose to Tilda, she seems to be one of the only people around who can liven you up a bit.”

Tap-tap.

“Obviously I’m not serious. I know you’re more interested in males. Speaking of, there have been several conversations since you sat down speculating on whether or not people should come over and ask you about Master Surrus. Apparently, his penchant for solitude is legendary.”

“Hmm.” Hiram contemplated that as he finished off the half-chicken that had come with his supper.

“Isn’t it, though? What makes you so special that he was willing to take you home?” Hiram grinned. “Besides all the things he’s not supposed to know about you, obviously. Ugh, you’re so childish.”

“Oy!” The arrival of Robard interrupted Hiram’s private conversation, but he didn’t mind it, just reached out and steadied the stool beside him as the dwarf heaved himself up onto it. He seemed sober for once, and eager not to be if the false joviality he projected was any indicator. “Well met, Master Emblic, well met.”

“And a good evening to you, Robard,” he said politely.

“Mm. What’re you havin’ there, eh?”

“The dinner special.”

“Ah, ah. And, eh, what to drink?”

“Oh, this?” Hiram glanced down at the mug. “It’s a pint of Jonn’s pumpkin ale. The top-shelf stuff. He said it would go well with the dinner.” He shrugged. “He was right, of course. It’s very good.”

“Is it, now?” Robard affected a wide-eyed demeanor. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to try that pumpkin ale.”

“Then you should.”

“Aye, aye. Only…it’s a bit dear, you know. A bit…pricier than a simple dwarf like myself can afford.”

Hiram wasn’t sure how Robard made a living when most of what he spent his time on seemed to be getting drunk, so this was probably a true statement. Jonn was clearly his closest friend—rumor had it that Robard even slept in the barn—but that didn’t mean Jonn was willing to waste his expensive microbrews on the dwarf when the cheaper ale got him drunk just as fast.

Actually…hmm. “I was wondering,” Hiram said, “about that tower in the distance.”

Robard blinked. “Gemmel’s tower?”

“That’s the one! It seems like a mightily impressive sort of place. I hear it was built by a dwarf, too.”

“Aye, that it was.” Robard thumped his chest. “My own clan, in fact.”

“Truly!”

“Indeed, indeed. Clan Blackstone, on account of we used to live in a mountain of the stuff.”

Interesting. Perhaps Gemmel had been attempting to reinvent the past when he decided to manufacture his tower in the stuff. “Fascinating. I’d love to learn more about it, if you have any tales to tell. Nothing that would bring disgrace,” Hiram added quickly. He knew how touchy dwarves could be about their private histories. “Just what’s allowable. I love a good story.”

It was hard to tell underneath the beard, but Hiram thought Robard was trying to affect a crafty expression. “The stories would be better heard over a pint of pumpkin ale, I daresay.”

“Agreed.” Hiram waved Jonn over. “I’d like the same again for Robard, including dinner, please.”

“Oh.” Robard looked at him with surprise in his rheumy eyes. “You don’t need to do all that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Hiram replied lightly. Jonn seemed to approve, if the speed with which he brought the meal of chicken and roasted potatoes out was any indicator. The ale he pulled much more slowly, making sure Robard was already tucking in to his dinner before setting it down.

The next hour was spent gleaning bits of gold from Robard’s ramblings. The broad strokes followed what Avery had said—they were driven out of Blackstone Mountain in the north by an unholy alliance between serpentkin and a group of fire elementals, and after a lot of diversions the majority of them ended up settling here. There might have been an element of coercion in there as well, something about an internal dispute that split their party in two, but that part wasn’t clear.

“Great idea, that tower,” Robard said in the middle of his second pint. “Could have revolutionized magic in the area, not to mention given our clan a revenue stream that supported us in our traditional crafts instead of turning weaponsmiths into blacksmiths and mangonel-makers into carpenters.”

“You were a warrior clan, then?”

“Aye, that we were. S’why it burned all the more to be forced out of our home, y’ken. If it were just one or the other, we’d have managed, but serpentkin plus the elementals?” He shook his head morosely. “It was too much. Can’t say that I care for the emperor all that much, meself, but every dwarf driven out of the northern range cheered the day he and his people subdued those scaly bastards.”

Subdued. That was a very tame description for annihilation. It occurred to Hiram that letting Robard wax rhapsodic about the devastation of Phlox’s people wasn’t the nicest thing for his elemental assistant right now.

He got a few more general stories about the tower, a smidgeon of the Blackstone clan’s epic poem, which sounded like it must be fantastic sung, and ended the night with Robard on his fourth mug of ale and staggering off to the outhouse. Hiram paid the final bill, then got to his feet and wrapped himself up in his cloak as he headed outside to walk home. He could have come with Mule, but the walk was nice to help clear his head after he’d been drinking. Usually it was a quiet, contemplative time.

Tonight, he was treated to a stream of hissed imprecations from Phlox. “They stole our caverns first! Our holy places, defiled by the deep-digging dwarves, where no piece of us was considered sacred!”

“I know,” Hiram said tiredly.

“The serpentkin were merely a means to an end! We never intended for them to feed on the clans we conquered.”

“I understand that.”

“There was no good reason for the violence your emperor leveled at us. We as a people are no more now, right down to the smallest flames.”

Hiram could argue that point, but he chose not to under the circumstances. “It’s in the past now, Phlox.”

There was a moment of silence before Phlox said, “Sometimes I wish more than anything that I had managed to kill you. Or that you had chosen to kill me.”

Hiram only nodded; his throat was too tight to do otherwise. He could offer up excuses, he could say that nothing was simple and war least of all, he could remind Phlox that he’d quite literally brought the invasion upon himself by burning through town after town, but that wouldn’t do anything except exacerbate the bad feelings. They walked in silence the rest of the way home, and Hiram was resigned to a night full of memories keeping him awake as he walked through the front door.

“Finally.”

“Esme!” Hiram looked at her, then did a doubletake. “Are you…snuggling with Knight?”

“Only because you weren’t here,” she defended herself before licking a stripe between the rabbit’s ears. She had adjusted herself to be about the same size as the enormous bunny, who seemed surprisingly sanguine about having a dangerous, carnivorous sphinx cuddling him like a baby. “I got cold.”

Hiram smiled at the thin excuse. “I see.”

“And it’s been days since you visited me.”

“That’s true.”

“So here I am.” She rolled onto her back, pulling Knight with her. The rabbit went with the air of a creature who had abandoned every thought of fighting back. “You have my permission to pet me.”

It beat focusing on the silent treatment from Phlox all night. “Your wish is my command.”