Rosehill Irregulars: The Closed City

Chapter 6

 All the way on the other side of the city, the Davelor siblings and their own short companion wandered down the street, shadowed by the massive walls surrounding the hilltop castle. Foul smelling water sloshed underfoot, coalescing in dips in the cobblestones. Compared to the open air of the docks, the east side of Stormborne was a different beast. Its streets were a series of labyrinthine ratways flanked by tenements crammed together like books on an overstuffed bookshelf. Paige hoped that the woman they'd asked for directions had been telling the truth, not just leading them into a trap. The half-bloods came to a stop at the split in the road. Paige looked up and down each street.

"She said to go left, right?" Paige asked out of the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, left," Duncan said, walking past her. Paige's eyes wandered over the dilapidated stone facades of the house. A few slumped figures watched the passing adventurers from their steps, dark eyes downcast. For a moment Paige wondered whether they were like this because of recent events or if they were always like that, given the squalor they lived in. She squared her shoulders and kept her eyes fixed ahead.

Eventually they came to another fork. There, facing them right on, was a large building, solitary, unlike the homes surrounding it. A sign squeaked gently as a sea breeze jostled it. At the center of the round sign a woman's figure was painted in bright colors. Paige eyed the sign, smirking. Captured with surprising detail was an illustration of a naked woman, her hands covering her more delicate parts. A wide brimmed, pointy black hat sat upon her head, her sole article of clothing.

"I like it already," Paige snorted, giving the sign another visual caress.

Finn paused halfway into the door. "Come on," he said, nodding inside, "let's see what it's like inside."

The stink of stale alcohol wafted through Paige's nostrils as she stepped inside. Stale alcohol? That was rarely a good sign in a bar meant for drinking. Hints of something sweet and aromatic also drifted on the air. Cinnamon? Empty booths lined the walls and five dented, abandoned tables sat alone in the middle of the single large room that comprised the tavern. A man stood behind the bar, puffing from a pipe. At the sight of the door swinging inward, his eyes widened in surprise and he set the pipe down.

"Visitors!" he called in a ragged voice. "Not many day-drinkers. Especially around here. What brings you to the Naked Witch?" he asked, not looking up from the flagon he was cleaning.

Paige pushed past Duncan and leaned over the bar. "Alcohol."

The barkeep looked over at her, his eyes narrowed. He slung the cleaning rag over his shoulder and set the flagon down. He turned, snatched a shot glass off of the counter behind him, and lifted a bottle of amber liquid. The pungent smell of citrus and alcohol exploded from the bottle after he uncorked it. He sloshed a small amount of it into the glass, re-stoppered the bottle, and put it back. He pushed the glass towards Paige, who eyed it momentarily before picking it up.

"Cheers," she toasted to him then knocked the drink back. It burned her throat on the way down, but left a pleasant burning and fruity taste.

"What about the rest of youse?" His eyes followed Duncan as he took a seat next to Paige and signaled for a drink of his own. The barkeep cocked his eyebrow, then withdrew the bottle again. "First drink's on the house. You gotta pay for this one. Just so you're aware."

"That's fine," Duncan said, waving his hand.

"Two bits for it," the keep said, sliding the drink down the bar. Duncan stopped it with his palm, withdrew two silver coins from his pocket, and slid it back. The barkeep snapped it up and placed it under the bar with practiced hands.