Chapter 13
“An heirloom of the dwarven royal family?” Mya turned the horn over in her hands with new reverence.
They were in the kitchen of her bakery, cinnamon rolls in the oven filling the air with enticing sweet scents.
“That’s unexpected. It’s pretty, but, as I said before, not that different from many others I’ve seen. ”
“The books Sylin dug up say it’s special. Here, you’re getting flour on it.” Rylana took the horn from Mya’s grip and used a pot holder to wipe white smudges off it.
Mya snorted. “You weren’t that worried about it before you knew it belonged to royalty.”
“No, but I had a hunch it was special. From the glowing ale mugs.” Rylana tapped the carving, but, as before, nothing happened. She wondered if she would ever discover what prompted the magic to announce itself. If she handed the horn over to dwarves, probably not.
“We have a diplomat in the city,” Mya said, “but not a full-fledged consulate. You said you mailed a letter to the king?”
“Yes.”
“You could probably wait until his people write back or an official-looking dwarf shows up with orders to collect the horn.”
“You don’t think the two who strolled into the diner the other day were official?” Rylana didn’t, but she wasn’t sure if she’d read those two correctly. Maybe they’d told the truth about everything.
“I didn’t see them. Did they look like bureaucrats?”
“They looked like dockworkers and said they usually worked in shipping.” Rylana carried the horn to the pantry, opened the door, and waved it in front of the shelves, still wondering if some ingredient was what had prompted it to glow.
What else could have been in the market?
And also on the rooftop terrace the night of Jildarin’s mushroom dinner?
She’d already waved the horn in his pantry to no avail.
Mya scratched her cheek as she watched the odd behavior. “I think the king or one of his higher-ups would send a diplomat if he really needed an errand done in Tranquility. And he or she would have proof of office to show you.”
“The diplomat probably wouldn’t have ransacked Jildarin’s lair and thrown my undergarments around either.”
“Dwarves do have a tough no-nonsense approach to carrying out missions, but that’s not typical behavior for kingdom officials, no. Have you tried putting ale in it?”
“Er, no. Why?”
“As we discussed, those horns were used more often for drinking than calling out to troops or hunting parties. Historically, soldiers sent into war were issued one and carried it to receive their daily ration of grog or ale.” Mya pantomimed taking a swig from the larger end of the horn.
Rylana held up the open bottom, the mouthpiece. “You said this was usually plugged?”
“Yes.” Mya took a clump of raisins from the collection of cinnamon-roll ingredients set out on the counter and stuffed it in the bottom.
“I’m sure that will keep it from leaking,” Rylana said dryly.
“When you lose the cap, you have to improvise. Shall we find some ale to put in it and see if it responds? At this hour, the alcohol flows freely at the tavern.” Mya waved in the direction of the alley and the building behind her bakery.
Outside, night had descended, but the gnomish fire-fliers were buzzing about, bringing streetlamps to life.
“Doesn’t alcohol flow freely at all hours in a tavern?”
“Mostly.” Mya took her cinnamon rolls out of the oven and turned it off, apparently ready to close the shop for the night. Only one customer had come in while they’d been chatting, a troll needing a loaf of bread to leave as an offering for the gods. “Come on. I know the owner.”
Mya turned the open sign to closed, locked the doors, and led the way into the alley where there was a back entrance for the tavern.
Before they opened the door, raucous laughter, jeers, and even a throaty roar—was that an ogre?
—reached their ears. Inside, the air smelled of wood chips and beer.
Rylana fought the urge to turn promptly around.
Though she’d occasionally joined the troops of her mercenary unit in drinks to celebrate victories—and the lives of fallen comrades—she’d never enjoyed spending time in noisy taverns.
Undeterred, Mya strode in, waving for her to follow.
She pointed at a dwarf bartender, the blond-bearded, broad-shouldered male standing on something behind the bar to put his eyes even with those of the humans, orcs, trolls, and other taller species summoning drinks.
Maybe he sensed the arrival of another dwarf, because he spotted Mya right away.
She held up two fingers and waved toward one of three doors that looked like they led to offices or maybe private rooms. One had a sign with two figures in skirts holding up mugs.
“The ladyies’ lounge,” Mya said over the noise and walked toward that door.
Inside, they found a wood-paneled room with red-velvet upholstered chairs around low tables.
There was a smaller bar in the back, nobody serving drinks there currently.
The lounge wasn’t exactly quiet, since the noise in the crowded main room pierced the walls, but only a few female patrons sat at the tables, and they weren’t speaking loudly.
It would be far easier to carry on a conversation in the room.
“Is there a men’s lounge too?” Rylana asked.
“No, they lounge all over the place.” Mya waved toward the door, then headed to the bar and climbed onto a stool high enough that she could rest her elbows on the scarred wooden surface.
Since the position put her back to the door, Rylana resisted taking the seat next to her, instead leaning against the bar so she could see Mya and the exit.
She wasn’t as paranoid about sitting down with her back to a door—or sitting down at all—as Sylin, but old habits died hard.
She liked to see when trouble was coming.
Fortunately, a shaggy-haired half-troll teenager was the only one who entered after them, and he was carrying their drinks on a tray.
He deposited chilled glass mugs of ale on the bar in front of Rylana and Mya, left another for a patron in a corner, then barked, “No males allowed inside,” as he exited, shouldering aside a curious goblin who was peeking in.
“Most of the males who visit the tavern respect that some females don’t want their company,” Mya said, “but many have trouble with that, and there are also theories about what goes on in here. Sometimes, I’m able to sell naughty pastries to the more curious.”
“An overlap in clientele?”
“Yup.” Mya pointed at the horn.
Rylana lifted the twine over her head and held out the potential drinking receptacle. The raisins had fallen out, so she used her thumb to cover the smaller opening.
“We should have brought more fruit to stuff in there.” Mya poured half the liquid from one of the mugs into the horn, the frothy amber ale spilling and dribbling down one of the carvings.
“Or one of the cinnamon rolls.”
“I suppose baked goods might work to stop up a hole. They’re somewhat absorbent. Though it’s more frosting and butter that I want them to absorb than ale. Usually.”
“I was thinking more of having one to eat while I sit here with my thumb in this hole.” Rylana peered into the half-filled horn, not sure what she expected to happen. She also checked the outside in case the mugs started glowing.
While she investigated that, Mya drank the remaining ale in the mug.
“Maybe you need to take a few swigs out of it,” she suggested.
Rylana doubted she had magical lips that would bring forth the power of the horn, but she sipped some of the brew, finding it bitter from the gruit. Usually, when she imbibed, she preferred wine or cider.
Still, she sipped gamely. Just in case. And she checked the carvings again. Nothing glowed, but did the horn warm slightly in her hand?
“It’s doing… something,” she said.
“Oh?” Mya asked. “We may need another round to try. Maybe a beer.”
“One Lumi Lake Stout coming up!” a male voice rumbled, startling Rylana.
It had come from a square stone slab with a dome-shaped glass carving on top. It glowed as the voice spoke, then fell silent.
“Gnomish communication device,” Mya said.
“They’ve become increasingly popular in the city these past few years.
A tinkerer in the Ridge District figured out how to make them from glass instead of rarer and more expensive materials, and he sells them.
You might want to pick one up so you can receive orders from your new rooftop terrace. ” Mya took another sip from her mug.
“We like to send Rolf up there in person regularly to check on the patrons. How would he get tips if the orders came in through a magical device?”
“From what I’ve observed, that goblin always finds a way to get tips.”
Reminded that Rolf sometimes came to the bakery and helped Mya with her dishes, Rylana waved an acknowledgment.
“He’s a hard worker, even if he’s always scheming.” Mya held up her mug in a salute before drinking again.
“Have you had a hard day too?” Rylana guessed.
“No more so than most. This talk of dwarves and the Ironhammer capital has put thoughts in my head though.”
“Thoughts of home?”
“I lived there with my husband for decades.”
Since another drink would come soon—and Rylana didn’t want to keep her thumb in the horn indefinitely—she finished off the ale in the horn.
The ivory had a smooth texture that made it an interesting vessel to drink from, but maybe she should have washed it better—she hadn’t washed it at all, other than rubbing off the dirt—before smearing her lips over it.
“I’ve dreamed of one of my kids coming to the city to help with the bakery,” Mya said, “not a goblin, though I don’t mind Rolf’s company. Or paying him a little for his assistance. Have you met his passel of children? There are a lot of them.”
“I haven’t yet, but I have heard about them. They sound like a handful.”
“Passels usually are, yes.”