With a sickly thud, Lura’s immense bulk crashed to the floor. On the edge of awareness everyone could only just hear what sounded like an unearthly scream that was cut off as Bellu instantly disappeared back to whatever imagination Lura had created her from. What followed was complete silence as the entire bar’s patronage stared at the group in shock.
Jumping on top of his counter, the bartender flung his arms in the air. “In honor of my promotion to Owner of The Sanguine Pit, drinks are on the house!”
The bar erupted in shouts. Drinks were shouted for and received as promptly as the pressured staff could deliver. Already new wagers were being placed, and money changed hands with a pace that was almost furious. Elsbeth thought she heard someone offer twenty to one odds that “the elf woman” couldn’t defeat “Piggy” straight up. She briefly considered taking them up on it, but instead turned and joined her companions at the bar. If Lura was *not* the one called “Piggy,” she didn’t want anything to do with the person who did hold that nickname.
Durvil reached across the bar and grabbed the bartender as he rushed by, stopping him short. “Hey!” he shouted over the din. When he had the bartender’s attention he waved back at where a couple of toughs were dragging Lura’s bulk toward the open door. “Seeing as we’re the ones who won you your promotion, I think you owe us a favor.”
“Hah! Of course, of course,” the bartender laughed. “Anything for this evening’s champions. My friends call me Retheld. What can I do for you?”
“A drug.”
Retheld barked another laugh. “How much? And what variety?”
“A specific drug,” Lothar clarified. “The one your old boss was holding over Senzer Rulkep’s head to get him to work. The one that cures his son.”
Frowning momentarily, Retheld’s joviality waned in the face of this request. “Right. She keeps that one in the safe. I’ll be right back.” He broke away from the group, immediately transforming back into a jovial bartender as he grabbed up mugs and delivered freshly topped ones to his waiting patrons. Snatching a woman from the end of the bar, he planted her behind it and gestured up and down its length. With a quick nod, she dove into her new task. The fact that each drink was served from the same tap made things easy, at least, and she set about serving each person at the bar as Retheld disappeared into the door on the back wall. When he returned, he carried a small package wrapped in soft leather and twine. “This is what you’re looking for. Lura bought every ounce of it left in Bloodcove, and told all the herbalists that if they brought more into the city she’d kill them. I don’t think they ever knew what it was for, and no one was ever willing to cross her. Well, until you all came along.”
“Speaking of which,” Elsbeth cut in, “how long do we have before someone comes looking for her?”
Retheld shrugged. “Depends on whether she owes someone higher up any money. Could be a couple days, could be a couple hours. No matter what, she’ll have to check in with Captain Xaenja the day after tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll come around the next morning, after Lura doesn’t show up.” He grinned. “That’s when my promotion will be made official.”
“And she won’t care that Lura’s dead?” Selah asked, incredulous.
“Oh, she’ll care. Business has to come first, though, and that’s where I’ll come in. What she wants to do about you folk is up to her. I have nothing to do with it. Lura didn’t owe me any money, after all.”
“Baffling,” Durvil exclaimed. “You’re saying this woman’s existence was based solely on the money she paid people.”
“Well,” Retheld smiled, “that’s one way to look at it, I suppose. But she made a lot of people a lot of money. I only get the bar. The other stuff she did I know nothing about. Those people will be right pissed, I imagine, and they’ll come looking for you to get a bit of it back.”
“Oh! I know what this is!” Everyone turned toward Ixilplith, where he had the package open and one of the leaves held up before him. “Mosto di malto phantasma.” He looked around at everyone. “Ghost wort.”
After a long pause, Durvil stood up off his bar stool. “Right, then. Let’s get out of here and get this wart stuff back to Sensay.”
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