[Envinyatar]

One last drink was requisite when one did business in The Gilded Gull, and especially so with Draugaer. The old man looked with amusement at Gaeradan whose nearly tearing eyes belied the stoic features of his face. ‘Don’t have this stocked in the King’s cellar, do they?’ he commented, throwing his third glass back with as little effect as if he had been drinking spring water.

Gaeradan took a deep breath after the shot clawed its way down his throat, nearly coughing as the harsh fumes, invaded his airways. His now empty glass hit the table top with a sound thunk. ‘No, they have other less direct ways of testing one’s manhood and loyalty.’

He sat back for a moment, his left arm resting on the table, his right hand rubbing his jaw as his gaze swept the room. Seamen. A rough lot, for the most part. And yet as he recalled, the rules for conduct among them were clear. No hidden agendas when you faced the sea, the deck rolling beneath your feet. Or perhaps that is just my drink hazed recollection he thought to himself, a half smile of regret on his face that it might be so. Or just the nostalgia of an older man for his youthful days . . . when life was brighter . . . the distinctions clearer and more easily made . . .

His attention returned to the man who sat opposite him. ‘I should be going now. Your information will need to be shared with those who need to know it. I thank you once again.’ Gaeradan stood up, making the effort to keep his gait steady he turned and made for the door. Draugaer’s voice halted him with a final thought.

‘Ever want to get another berth, come see me, Gaeradan. You were a fair enough sailor. And you’ve picked up other skills, or so I’ve heard. I could use a man of your talents.’

Gaeradan nodded at the man, acknowledging his offer. He filed it away, in the recesses of his mind, as he made his way through alley and headed back to the King’s residence. One never knew when an offer such as that might come in handy.

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]