Flamecaster (Shattered Realms #1)(51)
A painting of a beautiful noblewoman decorated the sign outside. The entrance opened into a large front room with a fireplace at one end and a heating stove at the other. The common room was full. Destin hoped that boded well for the food. Before he chose a table, he walked the length of the room and stuck his head into a smaller room at the back. It had a fireplace, also, and tables for playing nicks and bones.
Destin and Clermont settled themselves in the corner of the main room and ordered up mugs of ale and meat pies. When the pies came, they were enclosed in a tender, flaky crust, fat with meat and vegetables. Destin focused on his food until the edge was off his hunger, and then he once again began to take an interest in his surroundings.
The crowd in the Lady of Grace was more genteel than that which frequented the Mug and Mutton. For one thing, there were women among the customers as well as the help. There were merchants and tradesmen, and travelers complaining about the locking of the gates. A few off-duty officers from the regular army shared a large table at the back. As usual, people kept their distance from Destin and Clermont, but it was less obvious than in the rough-and-tumble atmosphere of the Mug and Mutton.
Some kind of entertainment was going on in the far corner. A crowd had gathered around a table, some standing, some sitting, including soldiers, guardsmen, and travelers. Although Destin couldn’t see above the heads of those who were standing, they were all staring down intently, and now and then they broke into laughter, sometimes elbowing each other, as if to say, “Good one.” Could be a storyteller, Destin thought, though it was difficult to fathom why a traveling talespinner would visit Delphi this time of the year. The weather and the tips were better farther south.
The party in the corner went on while Destin finished his meat pie and ordered up another mug of ale. Finally, it seemed the show was over. Some people drifted away, reclaiming their own tables again. He could just make out somebody sitting against the wall, and then some more patrons gathered around, blocking his view again.
When his server brought his ale, he asked her what was going on.
“It’s a fortuneteller. He reads the cards for people, moves from inn to inn. People seem to like him. Calls himself Lyle Truthteller.” She grinned. “Oftimes he tells too much truth, as some have found. But he always draws a crowd.”
Destin was mildly curious. When it came to entertainment, a fortuneteller was rarer than a talespinner or musician. True, most of them were frauds—experts at learning a little bit about a person so they could spit it back. Anyone who could truly predict the future wouldn’t while his time away in a tavern. Still, they could be amusing, and he had time to kill before the night shift let out at the mines.
When the server returned with Clermont’s ale, Destin put a hand on her arm. “Ask Truthteller to join us.” He nodded toward the crowd in the corner. “We wish to talk with him.”
She threw a doubtful glance toward where the fortuneteller held court, and a worried look at Destin. “I’ll see what I can do, sir,” she said.
When she returned, her face was pale, and her eyes large. “He says thank you, but he’s more comfortable where he is. Sir,” she added, as if mimicking the way the fortuneteller had tacked it on as an afterthought.
Destin straightened, surprised. Most entertainers would jump at the chance to impress someone close to the king. Or would be afraid to refuse, in any case. “Did you tell him who I am?” He turned the mug in his hands.
“I did, sir,” the server said, licking her lips. “Maybe the spell is on him. I’m not sure I was getting through, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t take it the wrong way, sir, if I were you.”
Clermont gripped the server by the wrist so that she cried out in pain. He jerked her close, so they were eye to eye, and said, “You tell that insolent whey-faced tavern rat to—”
“Let her go, Clermont,” Destin growled, his good mood quickly dissipating. “It’s not her fault, and it’s not that important.”
Clermont’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. He released the server and she hurried away, rubbing her wrist. Then he leaned across the table. “You’re new here, Lieutenant, and you don’t know how things work. The thing is, you can’t let these Delphian curs think they can get away with—”
Slamming his tankard down, Destin reached across the table and gripped Clermont’s wrist. The captain’s eyes went wide, and he howled in pain, struggling to pull away.
All around them, the other patrons focused on their meals, pretending not to hear.
Destin leaned in close to the captain. “I’m only going to tell you this once, so I suggest that you listen. I’d like to have a drink in a tavern where the help isn’t scared to get near me. I think I’ll learn a lot more that way. I don’t need you to second-guess my decisions. Keep it up and I might forget that, technically, you outrank me.” Then he let go.
Clermont looked down at his charred and blistered wrist, then back up at Destin. “You—you—you’re—”
“Yes,” Destin said, “I am. Now shut up and stay here.” He rose, picked up his ale, and crossed the room to the fortuneteller’s table. He didn’t look back to see what Clermont did or did not do.
The fortuneteller’s clients were a polished young man wearing a fine silk surcoat with a ruffled collar, and a handsome older woman in a well-cut traveling suit. Destin might have thought they were mother and son, except that they were holding hands and smiling at each other like newlyweds or lovers. They did not notice Destin’s approach because they were facing the corner, where the truthteller sat. Destin stood just behind the pair so that he had an excellent view of the proceedings. The other spectators took one look at Destin and gradually slipped away, finding things to do in other parts of the tavern.