The Ghost's Crusade

XV: Tiernan (cont.)

The Enkiri's comment caused the fiddler to chuckle and miss a few notes, but he still went on with his slow dirge and said nothing further. Tiernan shook out his jacket, then crossed the room and sat on the stool Drystan offered. He passed the man the messenger cylinder and said, "That's everything I can remember from my family's maps. If you happen upon Æbenforth in Whiteshire give him and his wife my fondest."

Drystan accepted the cylinder and propped it upright near his foot. "I still don't believe that man got married. This Diana must either be deaf or should be beatified as a living saint of patience."

The Inquisitor found himself smiling at the remark. "Can you imagine what their children are going to be like?"

"They'll probably take over the country and invent the first democracy in the Oribian," mused Drystan thoughtfully. "Either that or they'll be running around calling everyone simple-minded idiots and smacking them on the back of the head as they do it." He glanced sidelong at the Enkiri. "You'd really like him, Akkali."

"I am not going to Wardenfell with you, Drys," she sighed tiredly. "Quit whining."

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?" she demanded, looking at Tiernan as though he had some sort of uncanny growth sprouting from his face. "You're the one who had to ask why instead of just cutting that bastard's head off. Someone has to go find him and put him down."

"But I thought you said this Archer fellow was a friend of yours."

"And he's very likely dead. I'm not going to head west when a nasty little madman is traipsing about making meat puppets in the warrens just to fetch back the corpse of a man who explicitly asked for a pyre at sea." She rolled her eyes at him as best she could with bandages still covering half her head. "You can ask Basilides' severed head why he's a loony son of a bitch when I drop it off at one of your churches somewhere. If he still has that spirit attached to him I'll bet he'll have that answer you so desperately need."

"Plus there's the grave robber we lost in Gendelheim," said Drystan, cutting him off before he could counter Akkali's sarcasm. "You know, the one who almost blew us up. Ingots to librii says he has something to do with it too."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious," Akkali grunted. "I was having trouble remembering the giant exploding barrel Ser Fancy-trousers left for us."

Tiernan gaped at the man. "Blew you up?"

"With some really cheap black powder," clarified the Inferi needlessly.

"Really," retorted the taller man sardonically. "I thought he did it with blacksmith's bellows stuffed down that ceaselessly open maw of yours."

With a smirk he replied, "You're never going to get over that, are you."

"I don't believe I'm still arguing about this with you ten years and a hundred leagues later."

"I know! Just like old times, isn't it?"

The door to the tavern slammed open, admitting a chilly gust of wind mixed with the wet smell of rain. The innkeeper doffed his cloak in a heap by the door and slammed it shut behind him. "They're here."

Setting his violin down in its beaten case the old fiddler got to his feet and shuffled to the bar. "Whiskey. The bottle."

Akkali glanced over her shoulder with a disinterested frown. "Wessinberg must have had a jump on the rains. Figures."

"I think we'd best be on our way," said Drystan, keeping his voice low so that neither man at the bar could overhear him.

"You settle up with the man and I'll meet you outside." The Enkiri left quickly and silently, garnering the attention of no one else in the room save the men she was sitting beside. She had vanished up the rear staircase in a matter of seconds.