"Welcome to The Armpit." It comes without fanfare, and with a name like that you can't expect much anyway. It is a fitting name to be sure, and one must wonder what came first - the inn or the disgusting sewer grate that funnels the entirety of the castle's waste below it. Inside the little establishment you will find bowls of smoldering incense generously strewn about the room. A few cigars and pipes add their own smoke to the mix. The result is an aromatic haze that almost covers up the smell from outside. Almost. Luckily the alcohol is strong, cheap and abundant enough that patrons soon forget or forgive the offending odor.
"Name's Boris," the man continues, "got in right before they shut the gate, didn'ya." It wasn't a question. Newcomers don't typically rush to The Armpit with great haste. Most take great strides to avoid it completely. "After The Clover took a fire we're the only place with rooms and a meal after dark. I can fix ya both for a silver, or you can try your luck with a lump of hay at the stable." Boris cracks a smile. "Smells worse over there."
The traveler removes a red handkerchief he was holding over his mouth. Testing the air he finds it almost suitable, but can't help from wrinkling his nose. He clears his throat and nods, "This will do for now, yes."
"Right lad, follow me."
The room is small with no windows, which is typically a concern. But with the sewer babbling like a brook outside it was probably a good thing. He leans his pack in the corner, and hangs his overcoat on a hook by the door. Boris swings open the door without a knock, going back on his offer of a moment of privacy. The inkeeper is a wide man, leaving little room between himself and the door frame. With a stone gaze he takes note of the short swords hanging from either side of his new patron's freshly unhooked belt.
"Ya best keep those with ya. The Clover didn't burn down by no accident and it weren't a man's hands that done it." He turns to leave before remembering something, "And yer slice of the bird is coolin' off n' ready for ya. First ale is on the house." Boris pulls the door shut as he leaves.
With a sigh he clasps his belt again and adjusts the scabbards hanging at his waist. This should be an interesting dinner conversation.
The bird is a pheasant. The plucked carcass hangs above the fire soaking up the smoke from the pine logs. The incense adds its own flavor, creating a not unpleasant taste to the gamey meat. It's odd, after the haze gets in your nose for a while you barely notice the smell from outside. Barely. A small pile of bones sits next to some picked at potatoes on his plate.
Boris was trading the day's news with the regulars while the newcomer ate. It was the same everywhere. Crops are coming in from the fields a little slim this year. Somebody heard there was a commotion in the castle the other day. A local tomcat had been howling every night this week until someone finally pegged it with a pebble to shut it up. Not one mention of what happened with The Clover, curiously.
The out of towner pushes in his plate and raises an empty mug in the air. Boris takes them both and returns with a full mug of ale.
"Come an' take a seat with the boys, this next bit'll be worth hearin." Boris walks off with his ale, so there wasn't much choice in the matter.
"Fellas," The newcomer says with a nod as he sits down. The group of three regulars return a nod and go back to their conversation, wasting no time with formalities.
"Alec said it's a wolf that done it, swore up and down," said the portly one as he raised his palm like a confession.
"Ain't no wolf walking around on two legs like that, for damn sure," said the lanky one as he shook his head back and forth.
"Well it howled like a damn wolf Emery. Howled at the damn moon like out of a story book," said the short one as he pointed a finger at the lanky one.
"What did?"
The three locals turned unblinkingly and stared at the newcomer. He took a sip of ale for the pressure and asked again, "What are you all talking about?"
Boris places his foot on a chair in front of him and crosses his arms over his knee. It creaks under his weight as he leans forward. "The Clover, lad. Wasn't no accident and wasn't no man," he says it with a cadence. He must have repeated it quite often. "Been two days now since the fire." The locals nod in agreement, their attention refocused on the inkeep.
"Fella came in around mid-day. Hustled up to the castle crying for the guards. White as a ghost, cept for the dirt and blood."
"Hmph," Emery interrupts. "Shoulda tossed 'em out soon as he got in."
"Hindsight and all that," mumbles the portly one.
"Well Alec felt he was worth helpin' so that's what turned out. Took him the afternoon to make any sense out of 'em. Never did hear what they got out of the fella neither. Decided to put him up at The Clover. Gave him a corner room on the second floor looking out over the wall. Helluva thing ta do, lookin' back."
"Helluva thing," again a mumble from portly.
Boris's chair creaks as he shifts his weight. "They threw down the gate like usual and figured that was that. Tend to it in the morning. Send out a hunting party for whatever got to the fella after breakfast and that'd be the end of it. Sorry to say he didn't make it till morning, neither did The Clover. Hold on there, Sam."
The portly one, Sam, is eyeing up the bottom of his mug. Boris hurries off to the bar and brings back a fresh round of drinks. He settles back, leaning onto his chair with another creak of protest before resuming his story.
"Now, the widow Morris lives next door to The Clover, says she was having a bit of trouble with her sleep that night."
"Funny how her and the butcher were the first ones outside. What on account of Butcher Tom living across town and all." Sam's grin nearly splits his face in half.
"That's them and their business alone, Sam." Boris says chastizingly. "And hardly to do with what happened. Now again, Miss Morris was up at 'round the time the wheels fell off this old wagon of a town. Says she heard somethin crash through the winda' followed by the most commotion she's heard since a coyote got caught in the outhouse. Hollarin and barkin, furniture crashing about and all kinds of ruckus."
Boris takes a large swig of ale and smacks his lips. "Well, by the time she stuck her head outta her own winda' the flames were already taking hold of The Clover. The room with the stranger and the broken winda' was like a furnace spittin out fire. She felt the heat all the way from next door and didn't wait a second to tear out into the street hootin' and hollarin'."
"That's when the howling started. Sounded like four or five wolves all howling at once." The short one shakes his head and sits back in his seat. "And man, I'll tell ya, with each howl those flames got higher. Every time that thing opened its mouth the fired doubled itself. Like some kinda magic."
It's easy to see that Boris is uneasy at this point. He is swinging his mug back and forth by the handle as the short one adds his bit. "Now Lewis," he says quietly. "Yer just makin' stuff up now. Everybody knows that the fire started from that fella's oil lamp fallin' over in the scuffle-"
"He didn't have an oil lamp in his room." Boris, Sam and Lewis look like they were stung. They jerk their heads, looking at Emery wide-eyed. "I've been thinkin' these past days and it must've been something else that started the fire."
"What are you sayin' Emery?!" Boris shouts.
"I'm sayin' that there weren't no oil lamp in that room! We were runnin' low on oil so I gave the fella a couple candles. And last I'd seen he put them all out. It was dark in that room before I turned in. I'm sayin' there's no reason for that fire! No reason for some animal to be charging through that window, a second story window Boris! You ever hear of something jumping two stories, tearing a man in half then setting an entire building on fire? Well I ain't never heard of it and dammit if it wouldn't set this town to fear. It's bad enough without everyone thinkin' that there's some damn fire breathing monster running around."
A stunned silence takes over the room. Sam and Lewis sit studying their ale, looking defeated. Boris wears a grimace and his jaw works like he wants to say something but can't find his voice.
"Can you use those swords of yours, lad?" Emery asks the newcomer.
"Of course I can." He responds.
"Well good, we'll be needing them. The Clover was my inn, and I mean to see this beast dead. I'm going to tell Alec all this in the morning. I'd wager they'll have a hunting party gathered to get rid of it. And if they don't I'll put one together my damn self. We'll need all the steel we can get."
