Wren
Ch. 5
Luckily it wasn’t too far from Carver Square to The Red Lion, and he arrived close to ten in the evening. He went in and took a look around. This was a very upscale establishment, befitting the name. Many of the patrons looked like wealthy out-of-towners. Of course, anyone who managed to make it to Wrenfield from anywhere farther than the surrounding villages must have at least some wealth, or incredible luck. But these people were on another level entirely.
Jokes on me, I guess, for thinking that a bald guy with a ring on each finger would stand out.
Rich took a seat at the bar. Shit. Not enough money. I didn’t realize I drank that much last night. I should have checked before leaving the house.
“What’ll ya have?” The bartender caught Rich off guard. He was cheerful. Rich did not like drinking around cheerful people.
“A mead,” Rich may have had a habit of drinking his cares away, but he still cared enough to want to like the taste of his drink, “as much as you can fit in the tallest goblet you have”
“Three bateaux.”
“I don’t have any, but-”
“I’m sorry, before you offer, we don’t take credit here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“You have no idea how much it pains me to say this, but do you know who I am?”
“Why would I know who you are?”
“Does the name Newport mean anything to you?”
“Oh, you’re Richard Newport?”
“I didn’t think you’d know my first name. I prefer Rich.”
“Word gets around about the more prolific drinkers in the city. Nothing improper, I assure you! We just tend to hear about people who are very good or ahem not so good at paying off their tab. Regardless, if you are who you say you are, then I know you’re good for it.” The barkeep found a particularly large goblet, and poured mead in up to the brim. He placed the cup, very gently, on the bar in front of Rich. “It’s a shame you didn’t follow in your father’s footsteps. He made some great bateaux, best in the city. In fact, I believe your family is the reason our currency is named what it is!”
“Mhm.” Rich did not like where this conversation was going. He took a large swig of his drink.
“Why didn’t you go into the business, anyway? I’ve heard it was very profitable.”
“My parents died when I was young.” He stared daggers at the barkeep.
“It wasn’t that long ago, was it? It’s 2486 now. They died in 2476, only ten years ago. You look about forty, right? Thirty-five? We’ll go thirty-five. That’d make you twenty-five when your parents died. More than old enough to have learned the trade, that’s old enough to have made your masterpiece. Who are you, really?”
This is why I drink at cheap bars, Rich thought, The bartenders there don’t ask so many questions. They just let you drink in peace. Here they have to socialize with you. The bastards are always looking for information to sell. “I lost some years. As the clock turns I’m only twenty-three.”
“Twenty three? Why you would’ve only been thirteen in 2476. My condolences. I apologize for my impropriety. May I ask what made you lose those years?”
“You may not.” Rich hoped this would be the end of it. He knew that once he had some drink in him, he’d answer any question asked of him. He had a long night ahead of him. It would look suspicious if he didn’t drink, it already aroused enough suspicion that someone so apparently well known for drinking at dive bars would be in a place like this. He slowly sipped at his mead. He knew that bartender wasn’t done trying to ask him questions. For people like that, in places like this, bartending was only a side gig. The main business was rumors. Whispers of information to anyone willing to pay the right price.